Mishap
by Tea-Madness
Summary: Philip knew exploring an unchartered area according to the Shelter maps and crawling through dusty air vents was probably be a bad idea, but unfortunately for him, his darned curiosity got the better of him once again. Slightly AU. No longer rated M for language!
1. Chapter 1

**So I noticed there is a distinct lack of Penumbra fanfiction on this site, even if all of which are pretty good, and yet it seems to be a pretty popular series with a decently-sized fanbase. I intend to help rectify this issue by adding my own two-cents' worth in to the meagre list.**

**This is my first 'real' fanfiction written in prose instead of 'theatre script-type' dialogue format, and heavily inspired by ****superxXxSAMURAI**** '****s Penumbra one-shot ****Birth****, which in itself encouraged me to write my own fanfiction and I strongly suggest you check it out. **

**Please enjoy~**

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><p>"Whoops!"<p>

Philip stumbled over the rubble and debris, teetering and arms flailing before landing heavily with a dull thud, managing to wind himself.

He ignored Clarence's sniggers in the back of his head.

"Lost your footing there, monkey?"

Philip didn't bother dignifying the virus' taunts with an answer. Bastard had blinded him.

"Aw, you silly billy, haven't you learnt how to take a joke yet?" Again, the virus was ignored, his host choosing to look around instead and cracking open a new glowstick.

He had no idea where he was whatsoever.

"Do you _ever_, monkey?"

He wished suddenly that he'd looked a bit harder at the map he had passed in the hallway earlier on, before charging on to crawl through some vents until he reached his current location.

"Maybe you _did_ see that map, but your silly monkey brain has forgotten it already."

After a bit of exploration, Philip discovered that one: half the hallway to the left of the vent was caved in, most likely because of the large worm-shaped hole in the ceiling. Secondly, this area was a lot more modern and better-lit than the rest of the facility, and thirdly...any and all doors were keycard-enabled.

Fantastic.

This probably meant he was going to have to wander around blindly until he either found a away to disable the doors, or, god forbid, the corpse of some dead scientist who oh-so-conveniently has the appropriate keycard.

"Or just crawl around on all fours like the monkey you are in yet more dusty vents," Clarence piped up, "_Ooor, _better yet, let _me _take the reigns for a while. You can have a nice little sleep for a while...I'm preeeeeeeetty sure _I_ can remember what was on that map..."

Philip resisted the urge to snap back a reply, it'd probably only encourage the obnoxious twat of a virus even more. Instead he decided to concentrate on getting out of his current predicament, find Amabel, get rid of the Tuurngait virus-

"Hey! I'm not just some virus you can cure with a bowl of chicken soup and an aspirin-"

-And finish what his father failed to do.

He stepped resolutely over the rubble scattered down the corridor and carefully opened the only door without a keycard slot, peering in and ready to bolt if anything hostile lurked within.

Nothing, except a couple of desks and filing cabinets.

He let out a relieved sigh he hadn't even realised he was holding in and entered the room proper, making sure to close the door securely behind him; he certainly didn't want a repeat of the incident back in the mines when he found himself trapped by a dog because he'd forgotten to shut the door.

Checking the cabinets and desks, he only found a bottle of painkillers and a load of old paperwork relating to various projects: substances 63 to 77, artefacts, infection protocol, poker night schedules, cryo-stasis and regeneration units, cloning...the list went on and on.

"Useless," he grumbled, instead turning his attentions to the lone computer in the room and fiddled with it until it hummed to life. Maybe this would provide to be more helpful.

"Not with your luck, monkey." Clarence drawled, sounding bored.

**Welcome to the Shelter Network**

He clicked on all the files at random in hopes of finding something, _anything_, remotely useful, a program popping up eventually on the bright screen.

**Would you like to deactivate the security locks? (Y/N)**

Philip thought for a moment before tapping the "Y" key. The computer hummed, froze for a few frustrating seconds before emitting a loud beep.

**Error has occurred. Emergency protocol already in effect. Only door(s) 25, 26, 27 could be deactivated.**

**...We apologise for any inconvenience caused. Have a nice day :)**

"Your technology is really shitty. But with your tiny, singular minds I'm not surprised that you can only think so much."

...Ugh. Just _shut up_.

The virus just snickered. If viruses could leer, Clarence most probably would be doing so at that moment.

"_Fine_, monkey. I'll be quiet- if you need me I'll be going through your teenage memories again. I need a good laugh."

With that, his voice went silent.

Philip sighed in relief. Finally.

"Juuuuuust kidding, monkey!"*

Fuck.

After searching the room again quickly, Philip exited the dusty room and stepped back out into the corridor.

Then, for a moment, the world went black. He blinked rapidly in surprise, shaking his head.

...What doors had been opened again?

"Got a little..._memory problem _there?"

Clarence's unfortunate host groaned in annoyance. He was just getting somewhere, damnit!

"Well, if you let me take the reigns for a little while- oh, don't look so horrified- I might be able to remember those doors for you...we could even have a little _fun_ afterwards if you like..."

There was a small pause as Philip took in the last part of that sentence.

"...What?" he almost squeaked.

Did that idiot just... come onto him?

No, no.. the blonde shook his head. Clarence's idea of "a little fun" was most likely his host's face getting intimate with a rusty axe.

"Well if that's your thing..." The virus practically purred in response.

Philip made a mental note to smash his head into a wall the next time he heard something like _that_ from him again. The latter only snickered quietly, then returned to silence.

He decided to look around for those doors; he knew he _had_ opened at least three and he was going to check every single one if he had to.

Bastard Tuurngait, just what the bloody hell is he playing at?

Moving on down the hall to another door, marked as twenty-five. Had he opened this one? A little green light was lit on the keycard slot, so surely that meant it was unlocked now? He tried the handle and it opened with a soft 'click'.

It was mostly dark inside except for a faint, sickly blueish light emanating from a far corner, its source obstructed by a screen.

Holding up his glowstick he ventured further into the room. In the dim light he made out thick cables snaking across the ceiling and down the walls like vines, feeding into odd cylinders line along the wall to his far right. A couple of dead computers remained upon desks still scattered with yet more paperwork of varying levels of uselessness (just what the hell is a 'stasis unit' anyway?) as if the owner had just stepped out to grab a coffee.

Philip rifled through any and all desks or places one could stash things in in his immediate vicinity, finding only some more painkillers (oh, joy of joys) and the keycard to enter the room with (again, redundant now). Disappointed with the lack of anything informative he moved through the odd room, inspecting the cylinders -each one large enough for a single person to lie in comfortably- which were dotted with various lights, odd symbols, buttons and switches, all of which save a couple being unlit. Eventually he moved on to investigate the faint glow from behind the screen.

Well, damn.

Yet another dead scientist.

The man only seemed recently dead, slumped over the desk whereupon stood a large computer with a series of switches nearby, its screen glowing brightly in the gloom.

Philip carefully tread closer to the body, examining it from a safe distance.

Surely if he were infected he'd be wandering around by now, crowbar in hand, right?

Bending to look he noticed no visible wounds on either the hands nor face, nor any obvious blood-spill. Gingerly he moved somewhat closer, still very wary, then suddenly spotted a gun on the floor, glinting dimly in the fluorescent light of the glowstick, noticing as he did the smell of bitter almonds clinging to the man. He bit his lip and reached for the abandoned gun and withdrew quickly whilst still keeping an eye on corpse, then checking the cartridge for bullets.

Empty.

He groaned in exasperation. Who the hell kept a handgun but no bullets? A quick search of the desk drawers and the man's pockets revealed none either.

Well there went his hopes of finally finding a weapon he could actually defend himself with in this hellhole (he barely knew how to use it other than aim it and pull the trigger, but still). With a small sigh of disappointment he focused his attention on the computer, once again clicking around at random on the various files and executable programs until he found a word document.

"Last will and testament...To whomever finds this... "

He quickly scanned the pages, then jotted down anything deemed important in his worn notebook for future reference.

"Blah, blah, so the monkey killed himself cause he couldn't see any way of escape, boo-hoo," Clarence piped up, sounding rather unimpressed by it all. "What a mess he left this place in, too."

For once Philip felt inclined to agree.

The only thing the man had left behind was a will and some research notes, again referring to the workings of the 'stasis units' and the progress of the 'cloning program'; nothing useful unless he wanted a clone of himself running around.

"One of you is enough, monkey~"

Philip stopped. He didn't like the tone of that voice _at all_. Come to think of it, the virus had been suspiciously quiet for the past half-hour...

"M'not doing nothing," the virus paused, "Except watching your most intimate moments with your first crush. You monkeys really are obsessed with getting laid... Although I never knew _you_ were such a player, monkey! I'm rather impressed - Oh, OH, your face right now! Aahahahaha ! Am I _embarrassing_ you? 'Cause your face is the same colour as your jacket."

The blonde stopped and snarled in aggravation.

"Get _out_ of there, you arse!"

Clarence merely laughed maniacally at Philip's reaction, "Make me, monkey-boy."

The blond facepalmed.

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><p><strong>So, my first ever published chapter. Love it? Hate it? Thoughts on the progression? Want to flame and tell me I shouldn't continue? Feel free to express your opinion in a review!<strong> **:P**


	2. Chapter 2

After some more searching around in the gloomy room (you never know if you've missed something important), Philip left the room filled with weird wires and dead scientists.

He failed to notice the computer screen now had a program up and flashing, a single window with the words:

"**Regeneration unit is now online. Automatic mode activated."**

"Sooooooo, monkey, where to next in our _wonderful_ adventure? What's behind door number...twenty-six, I wonder?"

The blonde just rolled his eyes and simply ignored the voice.

"Oh _fine_ then. Try to be helpful for once, and this is what I get. Remind to _not_ drop anymore hints from now on."

Philip sighed and walked down the the hall, glancing up and noticing one of the thick cables from the previous room snaking its way along the ceiling and disappearing above a door down the long hallway. Once again his curiosity got the better of him and he followed the cable, eventually stopping at the door it disappeared into the wall above.

"Lab twenty-six," he read aloud. Well damn, the virus was right.

Oddly enough said virus was suspiciously quiet; Philip had expected at him to be gloating at the very least, or insulting the intelligence of his species' as a whole, etc.

The sod was probably going through his memories again.

"Quiet monkey, I'm thinking."

Clarence, _thinking_? Philip snorted at the very thought and opened the door.

Another dark room, lit only by a dim emergency lights set into the floor. It was similarly laid out to the previous room, except a single cylinder, similar to the others, was placed in the centre of the room, to which was attached hundreds of dusty cables, wires and tubes, and nearby was a desk with _yet more papers_. A screen was hung upon the wall, flashing the words:

"**Transfer process ready, awaiting confirmation."**

Philip briefly wondered just _what_ the computer was waiting to be transferred, but looking back on what he already knew about Archaic and the Shelter's machinations, decided he _didn't_ want to know after all.

He also considered asking Clarence, whom seems to know an awful lot more than he was letting on, but decided against that too; the last thing he needed was more insults to his intelligence or, worse yet, more vaguely sexual comments.

Instead he read some mores of the scattered papers and files on the sole desk in the room.

"Day 221: After months of work and research into the project, as well as countless fixes and alterations, the Neural Transfer Unit is now fully operational: the test subject survived with more than 70% of previous brain function intact and (most) motor neuron functions fully operational.

It is now possible for a single human consciousness to be transferred from a mortally wounded or incurably-diseased body into a healthy clone..."

Philip frowned. Just what the hell have these people been doing down here?

"Day 273:...I have yet to receive contact from the Project Manger at HQ. I will keep trying, the Elevated Caste will surely be pleased to know that they will no longer be forced to enter cryo-stasis should a key member of staff fall untreatably ill, as well the regeneration unit for lesser wounds..."

So, more useless information then.

Was there _anything_ helpful in this damned place? He was nowhere near getting closer to reaching Amabel.

Tired, he sat in one the abandoned chairs. Maybe he should go back through the vents to the other area, there was obviously nothing much here, he thought to himself.

How long had he even been down here? Days, weeks, a month even? He couldn't remember.

Would he end up holed up in some secluded room like Red, half insane and alone save for the voice in his head for the rest of his life, plagued by regrets and thoughts of what could have been, unable to die?

"Aw monkey, don't be like that! You'll always have _me_ to keep you company...You won't get rid of me that easily ya know."

Again that oddly coy tone, it definitely sounded like Clarence was keeping something important from him (but then again, when was he not?)

"Hmm. Maybe." Clarence replied in a sickeningly sweet voice, "Come on, if you don't get a move on soon I'll die of boredom... Oh wait, I _can't._"

Philip rolled his eyes and stood. Right, find Amabel.

"Oh yeah, _her_. You really honestly think she'll hug you, let alone come near you once she realised you're 'infected?'"

"She's offered me more hope than you have." the blond replied quietly out loud. The virus merely sighed.

"I know what you're thinking. Save the princess, get rid of _nasty old me_, find the cure then live happily ever after? Don't kid yourself monkey. She'll take one look at you and run screaming, and in the end all you'll have is _me_. That broad probably already has a 'significant other', maybe we should ask her when she shows up on that tiny screen again..." Clarence said sarcastically.

For a brief second, Philip got a flash of emotion emanating from Clarence's 'corner' of his mind.

Was that...jealousy?

The virus merely made an aggravated noise at the thought and fell into a sulky silence.

Well, _that_ had shut him up for a while, so maybe there was some hope after all.

He stood, and filled with a renewed energy, strode to the door. There was one more door that had been opened; if he found nothing more he decided that he would to return to the vents and crawl back to the foyer; stepping out of the room he continued down the hall, ever-trusty glowstick in hand in search of the last door.

"Twenty-seven," Clarence mumbled sulkily. Philip merely raised a skeptical eyebrow at this but continued nevertheless to door twenty-seven, trying the handle. It was open, but blocked from the other side.

There was a small pause, then:

"Wait wait, did I say twenty-seven? I meant thirty-one. _Yessss_. Try thirty-one instead..." the virus suddenly chirped gleefully, mood having done a sudden three hundred and sixty degree-turn. He got the strong impression that Clarence was grinning.

Seeing that he wasn't going to be able to shift this door, he cautiously moved down the hall once again, definitely not trusting the virus' abrupt change of mind. Philip turned the corner and found himself before two heavy metal doors which opened out into yet another corridor; albeit this one being much darker and dirtier, the panels of the ceiling crumbling and the floor stained with mud and god-knows-what-else, the emergency floor lights were dim and ineffective, but just enough to reveal the faint silhouettes of some barrels and a couple of crates obstructing the way, like a makeshift barricade.

This area had a different feel to it, its walls and ceilings in a much worse state of repair than the other one, the panels haphazardly hanging off the walls and suspicious stains splattered across the tiled floor.

The blond man stepped forwards carefully, moving barrels and crates in order to proceed and create a clear path back in case he had to make a speedy exit, glowstick clenched between his teeth. As he advanced down the hall, the stains, he found out to his relief, were just coffee, as evidenced by the styrofoam cup which he accidentally kicked and sent skittering down the corridor into the darkness beyond with a loud clatter that echoed deafeningly in the stifling silence.

He jumped at the sudden sound and froze - he knew all too well by now that loud noises attracted things in this place – things that usually tried to kill him.

Listening carefully with baited breath, he strained to hear the "Is someone there?", or the sound of shuffling footsteps on cold tiles.

Nothing. Utter silence.

He slowly let out a breath and carried down the hallway cautiously; still nothing out of the norm, so it would seem. Feeling a bit more courageous he moved quicker, if only to explore this place as quickly as possible and get out, eventually coming across an ajar door marked 'Supplies'.

With great trepidation he grasped the handle and gently pushed the door inwards.

"**_Is someone there?_"**

Philip's brain barely registered the torchlight beam honing in on him with frightening speed out of the corner of his eye as he let out a tiny squeak and instinctively bolted like a rabbit that had scented a fox.

He didn't dare look back when he heard the Infected's feral snarl echo disturbingly in the corridor from behind him as he just ran.

He needed to hide. Why was Clarence so quiet? Shouldn't he be deafening him by now with shouts for his 'brother' Tuurngait to kill his host by now?

_No,_ his survivor's voice cut in, _forget the bloody virus**, **just **RUN**._

If he could get back to the other area he could escape back through the vents and hide until it was safe or the creature gave up – another growl from behind, much closer now, made his breath catch in his throat, his lungs beginning to burn. Spotting a dark corner to his left he bolted for it, intending to hide under cover of the darkness as he stuffed his glowstick into his sleeve to hide the light that would give him away.

A dead end.

_It's okay, these guys aren't terribly smart, just wait here until it moves on then sneak past_, he thought, crouching along the wall.

The torchlight fell upon him again like a searchlight; he barely had a few seconds to react and leap to his feet as the Tuurngait growled again and rushed at him, a rusted and bloody fireaxe in hand. In a split-second Philip jumped to the side, shoving the surprised alien into the wall opposite and kicked the back of its knees out from under it, turning to run as it was momentarily incapacitated.

The Tuurngait squawked in protest and went down like a stack of bricks, but as it spotted its prey running past, twisted with an enraged screech and swung its axe.

There was no time for Philip to dodge a second time.

It hacked into his lower ribs with a dull crack, the small noise completely outproportioned by the sudden, screaming pain that arced through his entire torso as though he'd been hit by a truck and he stumbled, grasping at the offending weapon and gasping in pain. Bile rose in his throat and Clarence's voice was grating in his ears, but he could barely make out the words as his brain struggled to comprehend what was going on. With a whimper he tore the axe out – probably not the best idea but he didn't care at that point – with only one thought in his mind: _run._

His chest burned as he breathed, each one getting shallower and adrenaline beginning to kick in as in a last-ditch attempt to save himself he swung the axe blindly, not even looking back and he ran as fast as his burning legs allowed back to the vent. He didn't bother to check if the weapon had hit its intended target or not, all that was going through his head was the need to get away and stop the bleeding before he passed out in the open and exposed to further attack.

He barely heard the pained shriek followed by a whimper through the deafening roar of blood rushing in his ears, Clarence's voice, whatever he was blabbering about, becoming ever fainter. Turning a corner he found himself back at the barricade and relief flooded over him for a few moments as he stumbled past them, staggering down the corridor before his head began to get feel light, stars dotting his vision.

A few more steps more and he stumbled over some rubble, slumping along the wall and leaving a bloody smear in his wake. Exhausted with the adrenaline fading, left with only the white-hot agony searing his side, his breathing became ever shallower and quicker as he looked down and his blood-sodden side, biting his lip as he saw the dark fluid pumping sluggishly through his fingers, staining his trouser leg and pooling onto the cold tiled floor below.

For the first time since Red had died, Philip let out a small sob. No amount of painkillers was going to fix this kind of wound.

He was going to die.

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><p><strong>Gah, this chapter is huuuuuge compared to the others, more than a 1000 words more than chapter one D:<strong>

**Anyways, hope you enjoyed reading, and if you have any questions/ comments leave them in a review.**

**Remember, reviews help encourage chapter production by more than 30%!**

**8D So until next time~**


	3. Final Thoughts

Day 221: After months of work and research into the project, as well as countless fixes and alterations, the Neural Transfer Unit is now fully operational: the test subject survived with more than 70% of previous brain function intact and (most) motor neuron functions fully operational.

It is now possible for a single human consciousness to be transferred from a mortally wounded or incurably-diseased body into a healthy clone.

Day 222: Our subject, successfully cloned the day before, has died from complications. This puts a hitch in my plans to test the Regeneration Unit's capabilities: this would have been the _perfect_ oppurtunity to test its core functions, and if it could accurately and in a timely manner clone stem-cells in time to effectively heal a prospective patient. It is lucky for him that he is still alive within his new body and recovering safely in the Medical Bay.

Day 246: A possible hitch in progress: attempts to clone a capuchin monkey have resulted in complete failure. We cannot fathom how the margin of error varies between almost complete success and fatal results. Perhaps the first time was, dare I say it, a _fluke_? Both original and clone are braindead, and worst of all, I now have to explain to the Medical Research team why I'll be handing back to them back two once-test subjects turned vegetables.

More research is required to understand this failure.

Day 256: We still cannot understand how the machine can be so random with its success rate. Lack of progress can also be attributed to the fact that my assisant keeps running off to the Chem. Lab on the other side of the Foyer, goodness knows why. Last time he brought back some little trinket found in the excavation site, a small grey canister that glows seemingly of its own power. I do not understand his fascination with the thing.

Day 273: I have yet to receive contact from the Project Manger at HQ. I will keep trying, the Elevated Caste will surely be pleased to know that there is a possibility that they will no longer be forced to enter cryo-stasis should a key member of staff fall untreatably ill, as well the regeneration unit for lesser wounds.

Day 282: I realise this may not count as work-related notes, but I feel I must continue with my observations until further instructions are given to my department from the Project Overseer. I had previously been wondering why the communications link had been down for so long, so I sent my young assistant out to contact the Chemical Labs to see if they were experiencing the same issue, as well as for a decent cup of coffee (seeing as our own machine has broken down YET again.)

He has not returned for two days, I just hope he isn't bunking off playing Space Invaders on Miss Swanson's computer again over in the Chem lab.

Day 283: Still no word from the outside. I am beginning to worry.

Day 284: Words fail me today, but I will try my best to continue writing. Worried for my assistant I went out myself to check on the other departments.

We have been walled in.

Someone has bricked up the entrance to our area from the Foyer, judging from the fresh concrete and sloppy work I can only deduce that it was done in a hurry. Did they not realise we were still in here? I am hoping this is not a prank.

I tried calling for help and spent hours banging on the walls to try and make contact from the radio set in the supplies room with no success.

Nobody is coming for us. There may not even be an 'us'; my assistant is still M.I.A -We're trapped. There are no supplies in this department, no way of getting through the breezeblocks that bar the doorway to the Foyer.

Day 286 (?): The day may or may not be correct; I have lost track of time down here. Today I have made a horrifying discovery. I have found my assistant, but the poor fellow was changed. As I once again tried to make contact via the radio I heard footsteps outside the supply room. As I stepped out I came face to face with this -this **thing** that I barely recognised as my assistant. He has changed. He is no longer, dare I say it, human. He attacked me with a fire axe and I was forced to flee. I have spent the past day making a barricade and will engage the laser trap that the good Dr. Oswald installed a few months ago tomorrow, should he try to follow me to the main laboratory where I have hidden myself away, and I have activated the doorlock system should he try to pursue me again.

Day ?: I've long since given up the idea that help will someday come. I have next to no food nor water, I do not know how I've survived until now. I feel myself growing weaker. I have so many regrets; perhaps, had I not holed myself away in the my department for so long, I would have known something was terribly, terribly wrong in the Shelter. Perhaps my assistant and I could have escaped this had we allowed ourselves a break from our studies for once.

These are all but wasted possibilities. This is the end. I pray that perhaps, someday, someone will find out what happened to us, so that our work, our _lives' _work, has not been in vain.

Dr. J. Kronberg, Chief Researcher for the Cryo-Unit.

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><p><strong>A little 'filler' chapter that hopefully explains what happened before Philip stumbled in<strong> **on things.** **It's not as long as the usual chapters, so I apologise if this was a bit short and boring.  
><strong>

...

** So... was anyone else fooled by the title of the chapter? **

** 8D**


	4. Chapter 4

"Monkey. Monkey. _MONKEY_! Get.** Up**. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and _move_ damnit, or we're both gonna die-"

Philip knew he would probably meet his end down here at some point - hell, it was a miracle he'd even reached so far in the first place.

"I mean it! Don't make me take drastic action, you whiny, pathetic, underevolved-!"

But he had never imagined that it would be so close to the end, so close to a glimmer of hope, or with an aggravated virus screaming at him in his own head.

Stars and bright dots danced in his vision and his head felt fuzzy and light, as if he was floating away.

"Stupid, _stupid_ fucking monkey! Just get up on your barely-evolved hind legs and- ugh. _Fine_. Have it your way then. You just go nap-nap and leave old Clarence to clean up the mess you've left us in, hmm..?"

Swallowing thickly, Philip's eyelids felt heavier with each passing second and within moments everything had gone dark.

...

Was he dead, he wondered? He could still feel his body, but at the same time, not. He was moving now, hearing his own ragged breaths and unsteady footsteps, and yet, he was not the one in control.

He attempted to analyse the situation but his mind was scattered and fuzzy, making sense of what was going on was like trying to wade through chest-deep treacle.

Suddenly, in a blink of an eye, he could see again. He barely recognised the light walls of the well-lit corridor he had just left behind through blurred vision, but seeing it felt odd, like watching things on a screen rather than actually experiencing it. Another blink, and he could just about make out a door, the one with the numbers 'twenty-five' written on it.

Why was he moving and seeing this, yet not in control of his own-

Clarence.

Realisation hit him like a solid punch to the gut as his thoughts became slightly more coherent.

The bastard Tuurngait had waited until he was weak and taken his body over in a moment of opportunity.

He was trapped - trapped in his own mind and forever stuck as a spectator in his own body, as a psychotic alien virus ran around as _him_.

"**CLARENCE- **Clarence you utter _prick!_" He yelled, hoping that the opportunistic twat could hear him. If he was going to play the role of 'annoying-voice-in-the-head', then he was going to bloody well make sure Clarence's life was going to be as much a misery as he had made Philp's own.

He couldn't see anymore, what was happening, damnit? Frustration built up inside him until he could barely take it anymore.

"Urgh, shut _up_. You're giving me a headache you ungrateful little-" Clarence's voice rang out from somewhere in the dark.

"_What have you **done**?_" Philip abruptly cut the virus' voice off, his temper finally snapping at the virus' attitude. "I bet you just couldn't wait to see that-that _thing_ lodge an axe in my ribs, just so you could take over my body, you sadistic, parasitic-"

It was Philip's turn to be cut off as Clarence, sounding bored, drawled back nonchalantly:

"You know, you're beginning to sound and awful lot like a woman. Nag, nag,_ nag!_ And although the thought of you throwing a temper tantrum is hilarious, what you've failed to realise is that _I_ want to live just as much as _you_ do, and therefore there's no point taking over your stupid monkey body for my own when we're currently bleeding it out all over the floor."

Philip's anger subsided, just a little.

"So... what?"

"Don't you worry your tiny mind about a thing, old Clarence will sort things out so we're _both_ happy, hmm? Now, how about you take a nice little nap and let me work my magic? No peeking!"

With that, a thick blanket fell down and smothered his thoughts until everything faded away to nothing.

Philip wouldn't feel his body anymore. How long had he been 'asleep'?

_ If that's what it was._

The silence of his own mind was unnerving and stifling, it felt so vast a space and yet he couldn't help but feel claustrophobic and trapped in.

Was he going to be stuck like this forever, while Clarence paraded around with his body?

Nothing answered him, and the silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

Hours passed, or perhaps only mere minutes; there was no way to tell in his current location, and he began to realise that this is what it must be like for virus, forever stuck in the cold, cold emptiness, feeling like at any moment he would be lost forever in the cavernous abyss of his own mind.

"So, what's it like to be just a voice in someone else's head, huh? Terribly dark and lonely, isn't it?" Philip heard Clarence's voice, albeit faintly, "It's no fun when you're nothing but a smidgen of consciousness in a never-ending expanse, a barely-there entity like some kind of ghost with only dusty memories and thoughts for company."

Then, suddenly, he didn't feel so lonely anymore, so isolated. To his own surprise he felt a little bit relieved to hear another voice, even if it was just the virus, if only to know someone else was _there_.

He felt warmer, like he was wrapped inside a blanket but not smothered like before. Almost like a hug.

"Isn't it nice, just to know somebody else is _there_, sometimes?"

Philip could only nod sleepily. He hadn't felt this warm, this _safe_, for what seemed to be a lifetime; safe in the knowledge that he was no longer alone in the gaping dark.

"This is what it felt like before, you know. I knew where all my brothers were, what they were thinking. We were all connected," Clarence suddenly murmured, breaking the comfortable silence. "This is the closest I've felt to that since I got stuck in this big empty head of yours, since I was cut off from _them_."

He could have sworn he heard a touch of sadness in the virus' voice, or perhaps he had only imagined it; he couldn't even think clearly at the moment.

"But I suppose _you_ are all I've got for now. Not like I have a choice..." he ended with a sneer, completely changing his mood again.

The englishman only listened, almost as if in a sleepy trance. This was the most calm and dare he say it... pleasant, he had ever heard the virus speak to him. Even if he was behaving in a slightly _odd_ manner. Well, odder than usual.

It was _almost_ easy to forget that said virus was also completely batshit insane and intent on either a) getting his host killed in any manner of horrific ways, b) taking over said hosts body for his own, c) in the event of both options a and b failing, annoying the shit out of Philip until he was just as insane as Clarence was or finally d) all of the above. Possibly at the same time.

So for the moment, he decided he liked calm Clarence. It was a definite improvement on the usual bratty, arrogant, childish, moronic Clarence. A short silence fell once again, until the virus' voice broke it once more.

"Don't get too comfy now, monkey."

"Wha-?"

"Time to **go**~!"

Philip had no time to ask just _where_ he was going when he was abruptly jerked very much awake and back to reality with a small gasp.

"-nkey. Monkey. Oi, ugly, wake the hell up!"

And all of a sudden he felt arms around him, his body wrenched back into consciousness. His entire frame jolted, chest heaving as his burning lungs automatically forced him to cough and choke in an effort to draw in in greedy breaths, like he'd been starved of oxygen for far too long.

He was also wet. Sopping wet, in fact; as if he'd just been dragged out of a swimming pool. His clothes and hair clung to him rather uncomfortably.

"Monkey?" Clarence's voice wavered a bit, sounding, just a tiny little bit, concerned (either that or Philip was brain-damaged from lack of oxygen, he couldn't quite tell).

The blond's breathing began to even out after the coughing fit, and he realised that his side didn't hurt so much anymore.

"C-Clarence...?" He barely managed to whisper. God, his head ached, even if his ribs mysteriously didn't.

"Holy crap, you're alive! My monkey is alive, _my_ monkey...!" Suddenly the battered blond was not-so-gently bundled up and dragged up so he was in a slouched, half-lying, half-sitting position, his upper half supported by someone who then proceeded to weave their fingers through his damp hair.

"My monkey, mine, mine, _mine_~" he hearda voice chant gleefully.

...

What the **_hell_**_?_

"-_knew_ it'd work-"

Philip's brain, still incoherent and fuzzy, struggled to make sense of this new situation. He was wet, he had a banging headache but the pain from the deep laceration in his ribs had faded almost entirely, and now he was being held by someone who, rather creepily, sounded and spoke _just like Clarence._

"Mine, mine, mine... God, I_ totally_ deserve the 'guardian angel' title-thingy now."

"...Clarence?" He managed to croak out again, louder this time.

"In the flesh._ Finally._"

* * *

><p><strong>Yay, plot development!<strong>

**Again, this is quite short, sorry about that.  
><strong>

**Also, you can tell I'm new at this whole 'posting fanfiction' malarkey, because I accidentally posted chapter _four_ instead of chapter three, because I'm very, VERY tired and distracted, and I'm stupid when I'm tired and distracted.**

**Again, thanks for reading, and don't forget to leave your thoughts in a review! **

**(Don't think I don't see you there, yes, _you_, the lurking ones. I've got my eyes on you. Jkjk, you guys are awesome.)**

***edit* Oh, and if you've got the time, check out the poll on my profile! Your input would very much appreciated~  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5

_What._

Philip's brain struggled to keep up as he slowly opened his eyes. Aside from a faint glow to the far right of him, his surroundings were rather dark. Another groggy scan of the area revealed the faint outlines of a couple of long, cylindrical forms. Something in the back of his head reminded him that they were tanks of some kind.

How on earth did he manage to get back to this room? The last he could remember, he'd fallen down in the corridor outside. Another glance around and he noticed he was not only in a room he couldn't recall re-entering, but he was also_ in_ one the weird tanks, half sitting up and supported by the arms of someone in what appeared to be a white lab coat.

"Took ya long enough to wake up, monkey."

The rough voice jarred his senses and roused him partially from his stupor. Why did the person currently holding him sound like so familiar? He couldn't quite put his finger on it, though.

Maybe he was still dreaming, or the virus was screwing with his head again.

_Yeah_, he thought, _that must be it_. He vaguely remembered Clarence himself saying that he physically could not leave the confines of Philip's mind. Therefore, this person could not be Clarence. There was no way.

_ Logic triumphs for once in this hellhole__!_ Reassured with this explanation his eyes fluttered shut again. This must be a dream. Yes: an utterly _fucked-up_, twisted hallucination brought on by too many medically advised painkillers again.

Clarence with a body? The very thought of it was frightening.

Good thing he was dreaming.

No need to panic.

"Oi, don't faint _again_, I only just managed to wake you up, sleeping beauty!"

With a groan Philip forced his eyes open once again. Once again that voice had dragged him back to consciousness. In irritation he pinched himself on the arm in order to wake up, and hopefully get away from the grating sound.

To his surprise it hurt, as suddenly did his head, which now felt like a mallet had been taken to it. With a hiss of pain he tried to shift a little, only to find his movements restricted by the set of arms supporting him. With a glance downwards he then made out in the dim light a large, dark stain that started at the top left side of his ribcage and that then spread further down, almost to his knee.

His coat was also missing; a hurried glance around the room revealed it to be thrown haphazardly in a sad-looking heap on the floor by the door, also smeared with dark stains.

Panic began to rise in his throat. The last thing he could remember was exploring that unlit area beyond the set of double doors, past the barricade, being chased by that monster and then-

And then the axe splitting his side, followed by blinding pain and his screams, then running. Afterwards... nothing but foggy and blurred thoughts.

Hesitantly, he moved his hand to brush the side where he thought the weapon had struck. His fingers only found the torn fabric of his thick jumper, crusted with with semi-dried blood -_his blood_-, and under that a raw line, about a quarter of an inch deep which ran almost the entire span of his side from front to back in a single, knotted line. Further prodding gave a small jolt of pain in his insides and he grit his teeth, moving his hand away.

His brain couldn't keep up. There had definitely been a large gash from the weapon, but it was partially healed, practically a scar. A wound that wide and deep wouldn't have just healed by itself without at least a month's worth of healing. Even he knew that with his limited knowledge of first aid. Without immediate medical intervention, he should have died from the blood loss alone.

He couldn't have dreamt this up, but he was struggling to find a logical explanation. He had been so sure he was going to die then, but suddenly here he was, in a room he didn't remember coming back to, with a mortal wound somehow healed by itself, and a person who sounded all-too familiar but he was unable to recall exactly _how_, and who was currently holding him upright and chattering away, despite the fact that Philip could barely hear him through his muddled senses.

Too many questions with no answers to them.

"How..?" was all he could manage to say, trying to detach himself from the owner of the arms which held him in an uncomfortably tight grip.

"Don't you worry that little brain of yours about it, monkey. Things worked out just _fine_, just like I told you they would. Ol' Clarence bailed us out."

The grip on him loosened as the owner of the unnerving voice leant back, and Philip could finally get a look at them.

What little colour remained drained from his face and his mouth dropped open in shock.

The man's face was almost the mirror-image of his own. Same facial structure, same nose, same golden blond hair, albeit much shorter.

The only difference was the eyes, and even then it was barely noticeable; it was hard to tell in the faint light, but Philip was sure he spotted a much darker colour, possibly brown, partially discolouring the blue in the left eye.

"O-oh God," he whimpered. "This is... I don't even.." his gaze shifted from the man's lopsidedly-grinning face, down to the tank he was lying in, to the bloodstained coat on the floor, then back to the mirror-image of himself.

"We were bleeding out pretty fast," the other man supplied helpfully.

Wait a minute... '_we_'?

"So I got us into this thing," he placed a hand on the rim of the tank, "And hoped it would do what it said on tin."

Philip's mind began to clear from the fog, but he barely listened to the explanation. The man had used_ 'we'_ and kept calling him _'monkey'_...

... and had just referred to himself as _Clarence._

He felt faint again. Swallowing heavily he put a shaky hand to his aching head, sorely wishing the pain would stop. This was too much to handle, it was impossible. He glanced up at the man, confused.

"But y-you.. You _can't_ be here, you said you were trapped in my m-mind..."

"Oh. That. Eh... When I put us in the tank the computer kinda _maybe_ thought you were going to die despite treatment -at least that's what I gathered from the report on the screen-thingy – so it automatically started some kind of cloning process and made a copy of us. You." 'Clarence' said, looking disgustingly smug and pleased with himself. " But when it tried that 'neural transfer' I was the one that got put in the new body instead of you."

The once-virus then smirked at his former host, "So now _I_ have a body of my own, and _you're_ not dead. It's a win-win situation, dontcha think, monkey?"

Philip bit his lip. Out of _all_ the weird crap he'd seen and experienced in this godforsaken facility, well, _this_ just went and took the biscuit.

"I guess that means we don't need that woman any more."

_Shit,_ Amabel was still waiting for him!

There was still hope. They could still escape from this mess and find a cure for the virus before it spread any more. With a groan he leant over the rim of the tank and slowly stepped out on legs of jelly.

Clarence, who had since moved on to lounge in one of the chairs nearby while Philip was having a mini-crisis, looked at the struggling man oddly.

"Where are you going?" he asked, watching his former host but making no move to aid him as the Englishman stooped to retrieve the bloodied garment from the floor, examine it, then put it on with some difficulty.

"How long was I in that thing?" Philip asked, ignoring the previous question. "And where is my bag with the supplies in it?"

Clarence grimaced. "Answer my question first then I'll answer yours, monkey."

"Amabel is still trapped." the other blond managed to gasp out with gritted teeth; his side was beginning to protest more now at his sudden movements.

"You're _still_ hung up on that broad? I thought we established that we didn't need her any more."

"How long was I out?" Philip reiterated again curtly, rifling through his pockets for his stash of painkillers and checking to see if he still had his glowstick. He was too tired to deal with Clarence's petulance now.

Said person rolled his eyes and straightened up from his lounging position.

"I just don't get why you're still obsessing over her. You don't even know what she looks like. Hell, she could be a complete psycho for all we know. Or fuck-ugly. Or even _both!_"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me, monkey." Clarence growled in reply.

Philip merely ignored him and continued searching through his pockets, eventually finding the glowstick still up the coatsleeve and turning towards the door.

"So you're leaving me, just like that? No 'thanks for all the laughs, oh, and for saving my life too, old pal'?"

The other man pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the headache to go away. He didn't know what was worse: Clarence stuck in his head, or Clarence with his own body.

With a sigh of resignation he turned back slightly and said:

"Well are you coming, or not?"

This had an almost instant effect on his companion's sulky mood. His face broke into an ear-to-ear grin and leapt up from his chair.

"You're not gonna leave me behind then, monkey?"

"Only if you don't fall behind. Although I'm not going out of my way to look for you if you wander off, either." With that, Philip exited the room.

"Not much chance of that happening." Clarence murmured to himself, gleefully trotting after the other man.

Outside, the Englishman seemed transfixed by the large, now-drying smears of blood, _his_ blood, spread along the wall all along the corridor and droplets splattered on the floor right up to the door where he stood, when Clarence joined him.

Philip went to move on, looking slightly disconcerted, back to the vent, or to find more rooms to search, when he glanced at the other man then did a double-take.

"Wait. Where did you get those clothes?"

Clarence shifted a bit, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking a little bit sheepish.

"I was butt-naked and freezing my ass off when I woke up and got outta that tank."

Philip looked him up and down.

"You looted the clothes off that dead man, didn't you?"

"He didn't need them any more. _My_ needs superseded those of some dead monkey." he sniffed.

"I hate to break it to you, but now you're as much of a _'monkey_' as I am."

"Shut up."

* * *

><p><strong>The sheer number of times Philip said "This is impossible!" in the rough draft of this chapter was astonishing.<strong>

**Philip: IMPOSSIBRU!**

**... I'm a moron. x_x At least this chapter is marginally longer than the others, although I get the distinct impression that I abuse the italics option. A LOT. **

**Also, I'm hoping you guys now see just how much **superxXxSAMURAI**** '****s** Birth one-shot inspired this fanfiction. (This whole story was written around the events that took place this and the previous chapter, and I then decided to continue it)**

**Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed doing so, and don't forget to take a look at the poll on my profile~**

**It's kind of important, like, how-this-fic-could kind of important, and could very well determine if I have to write another fic.  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6

Their continued trek through the abandoned hall ways and corridors was nerve-wracking, to say the least.

While it was some comfort to know that he was no longer so alone in this godforsaken place, Philip had to admit that travelling with the physical embodiment of his tormentor and would-be killer as a companion was just a _little_ bit unnerving. Having Clarence around as a very real person, now fully capable of killing his once-host with minimal damage to himself, was a very real possibility.

Philip did not like that one bit. Nope.

Even if his clone showed no signs so far of feeling homicidally-inclined towards him, the Englishman couldn't help help but not feel on edge with the other man dogging his every step, not after the former had previously made (several) death-threats to him... Not to mention just trying to get him killed horribly in general.

But for now, Clarence seemed quite happy to follow him like some kind of rambunctious puppy, occasionally wandering off out of sight to explore small side rooms and finding odd trinkets he dubbed artefacts, but always finding his way back to Philip (who still couldn't figure out just _how_ he was finding him again, even after leaving him quite far behind).

Apparently having one's own freedom to move around and not being trapped in someone else's head does wonders for your mood.

They couldn't be far off now, Philip thought. Something told him that they were close as they made their way down the darkened hallways, past the foyer which housed a single, threadbare chair and down a long set of steps. He could feel a faint, cool air from up ahead, getting stronger as they moved towards it, finally coming across a brightened part of the corridor with one side lined with glass which gave a view of the outside; more similar-looking, destitute buildings set into the rock, partially obscured by heavy snow.

Further inspection revealed the source of the draft: bullet holes peppered the cracked glass, allowing the frigid wind and snow to blast into the hallway.

Yet more evidence for weapons in this place, and yet Philip had yet to actually see one. Well, one that he could actually use.

Clarence shivered behind him and wrapped his arms around himself, puffs of air condensing in front of his mouth in little visible clouds as he stepped over the twisted metal and rubble that littered the area. Philip hurried on, eager to be out of the glacial wind and turned a darkened corner.

A set of heavy, reinforced metal double doors stood on his right-hand side, with a faded sign above it.

"Chem Lab."

This was it; he'd finally reached where Amabel was locked in. In excitement he ran towards the door, looking for a way to get in and spotting the key-card slot set into the wall.

"Hello, Miss Swanson?"

Clarence trudged past him at a more sedate pace, face set in a look of annoyance and arms still wrapped tightly around himself in an attempt to stay warm.

"Maybe she's not home," he drawled. "Oh well, we tried. Let's go monkey, before we die of hypothermia or somethin'. And when I say 'we', I mean _I-"_

"H-hello, is someone there?" A small, quiet voice, muffled by the thick metal, came from behind the door. Relief swept over Philip when he heard that voice.

He wasn't too late.

"Miss Swanson, it's me. We spoke on the computer earlier."

There was a small pause and he heard a little _'thump'_ against the door, as if she had slumped down against it on the other side.

"You know," she said, "You turning up here is probably the second-best thing that's happened to me since I've been down here... I'm reserving _first place_ for when we get out."

There was another short pause, before she spoke again, sounding a bit embarrassed.

"So... I'm not bigheaded enough to think you came all the way here just to rescue me-"

"Nah, quite the contrary... Although God knows _why_." Clarence muttered under his breath, shooting a glare at Philip's back.

"-I wasn't lying, I've worked out a way to disinfect you but- and you probably saw this coming- it's not quite as simple as that."

Philip sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Of course it couldn't ever be simple.

"I've had to engage the failsafe on the research rooms to seal myself in here, and that means we need a keycard to get me out. One of the personnel - one of the infected ones- tried to get in with a card, but I don't know where he, where _it_ went." She broke off, going quiet for a few more moments before starting again shakily.

"Look, I need you, and, well... If you do get me me out... I'll give you the biggest hug of your life."

Philip placed a hand on the cold metal of the door.

"I _will_ come back." With that he lingered a moment, before taking a step back, then reluctantly carrying down the dark corridor, past Clarence who stuck his tongue out childishly as a sign of disgust.

"Christ.. Go here, go there, fetch this, run me a bath! Typical broad, atypical circumstances." Clarence grumbled, following Philip, and upon seeing the other man's expression, added:

"You think _fate_ has anything to do with this? _Fate_ is merely a war-cry for those too scared to think for themselves." He spat out. "I still think we could ditch her. You and me, we got what we want already. I ain't in your head anymore, messing with your brainspace now, am I?" Philip could hear the exasperation in his tone, but merely gave the clone a flat look, who glared back halfheartedly before grumbling to himself and kicking some of the scattered debris that littered the floor.

"Besides.. three's a crowd."

Philip could feel another headache coming on. He didn't even bother to question the ex-virus' reasoning now.

Three's a crowd, _really_?

"Why don't you just.. I don't know, make yourself useful and help me find this bloody card?"

Clarence considered the words for a moment, then replied.

"Nah."

"Ugh, just.. _Fine_. Just be quiet, we don't know what could still be lurking around here. Amabel said there was an Infected running around."

The clone shot him a glare, bareing his teeth almost animalistically.

"_Infected_. You make us sound like some mindless _disease_ that should be eradicated," He hissed, before adding, the scowl then turning into a disturbing, twisted grin as another thought struck him.

"Besides, there's only a couple of us '_In-fect-ed_' wandering around in here. No biggie." He dragged out the word 'Infected' in a long drawl, as if the word left a bad taste in his mouth.

The Englishman choked on his own saliva a bit, hurriedly stuffing the glowstick up his sleeve.

"_What?" _he hissed, feeling the familiar paranoia and fear beginning to settle in the pit of his stomach.

"Chill out monkey, neither of them are particularly close," Clarence drawled, looking smug in the knowledge that he knew something Philip didn't, and delighting in the fear he had just see take over the man's expression. "One's over there," he waved a hand vaguely to somewhere on the left, "And the other one is... Oh. We'd better move. For your sake."

Philip's heart began to pound and, as if on cue, he heard the tell-tale padding of footsteps on the tiled floor approaching from somewhere to the far right, a torch-beam picking out the shapes of rubble and fallen wall panels at the end of the corridor.

He resisted the urge to swear loudly and grabbed Clarence by the wrist, dragging him in the other direction in a flat-out run, away from the torchlight. They jumped and ducked around dangling cables and loosened wall panels, turning corners left and right before finally stopping at a single door.

Panting heavily Philip cautiously pushed the door open and peeked inside. It was dark, but he spotted no obvious signs of danger.

Then, above the sound of his and Clarence's heavy breaths, they heard:

"**Who is there?**" The alien, deeply-pitched voice growled, resonating off the walls and sounding awfully close. "**There is no point in hiding.**"

Too close, and the owner of that voice was closing the gap between them, _fast_.

In a split-second decision and thowing caution to the wind, he yanked the door open, threw Clarence in and quickly followed, closing the door firmly shut behind them and effectively sealing out the light, hoping that the Infected trailing them hadn't heard.

He turned with baited breath, only to find himself almost nose to nose with the other man, who had an amused grin that showed far too many teeth.

Philip glanced around, and made out the shapes of long-handled objects standing against ancient, rotting shelves. Mops, brooms, even a bucket or two.

They were in the broom cupboard.

* * *

><p><strong>Argh<strong>**, sorry for the slight delay in getting this chapter out. I've been trying to stick to my self-imosed deadlines of between six and ten days, sometimes twelve, between each chapter, for fear that I might lose interest and my first fic could very well become a dead one before it's even finished. Never fear though, I've been keeping up with the rough drafts, so there's still plenty of chapters to come yet.** **the slight delay is due to me working on a contest entry for an Art Contest hosted by one of my favourite webcomics, Drowtales. If you haven't heard of it, I strongly suggest you check it out if you're into the fantasy genre. But I digress.**

**See you next time, and I hope you enjoyed reading, and if you have any thoughts to share, put them in a review. They are honestly the most amazing boost to morale and are 80% responsible for wanting me to continue this fanction~**

**Oh, And don't forget to check the poll on my page. There's only one vote so far, so my poor poll feels a bit neglected. Remember, the poll results may well contribute to how this fic is going to end.**


	7. Chapter 7

"Well gee monkey, if you wanted to be alone with me you could've just sai-" Philip clapped a hand to the chattering man's mouth and glared at him through the dark.

"_Be quiet!_" He hissed, voice barely above a whisper. Clarence gave him a flat look and removed Philip's hand from his face, but said no more.

"**Is someone there?**" The monster outside growled again, the light of its torch shining through the gap at the bottom of the door.

Philip almost stopped breathing. The tension was unbearable.

If it heard them now... The Englishman bit his lower lip, tryingto breathe evenly and not start hyperventilating, his eyes transfixed on the bright light emanating from under the door of their hiding spot, willing the thing to _just go away I can't take this anymore_-

Clarence suddenly tapped his shoulder, making him jump and very nearly scream. He turned to look at the clone, about to snap (very quietly, mind) at the annoying bastard for scaring the living daylights out of him.

"_What?"_ Philip mouthed at him, irritation momentarily overcoming the fear.

Clarence was frowning, almost pouting, at his ex-hosts angry reaction.

"Calm _down_ monkey, he's gone. Jeez."

Philip looked back to the door. Clarence was right, the light was now gone, as was the sound of the Infected's heavy, raspy breaths.

He let out a shuddering sigh and ran a trembling hand through his hair, very nearly collapsing to the dirty floor. That had been close.

_Far_ too close.

Silence reigned again for what felt like an eternity, albeit this time without the thick tension and fear permeating the air. Both men merely stood there, uncomfortably close together because of the small size of the room, lost in their own thoughts.

"Monkey." Clarence broke the silence, as per usual.

"What?"

"You can let go of me now. Not that I _mind_ your prolonged physical contact or anything..."

Philip looked down.

He was still holding Clarence's wrist, having grabbed it before and dragging the other man away in their mad dash for safety. Hurriedly he let go and jumped back a little bit, his back colliding with a couple of brooms against the shelf as he looked away, embarrassed and avoiding eye-contact with the now smirking clone.

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Not while I have a breath in my body." The smirk turned into a full predatory grin, his tooth looking disturbingly sharp. Philip frowned a little bit at this. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, he thought.

"Well, I dunno about you, but it's beginning to feel a little bit _too_ cosy in here," His companion suddenly said, grin never leaving his face as he squeezed past Philip to move towards the door. "Shall we take our leave now?"

"As long as you give me a bit more warning when one of your... '_friends_' is getting too close. We might not find somewhere else to hide again."

"Aw, monkey," Clarence replied in a falsely sweet tone, "Do you not enjoy our little games of hide and seek? I do. Nothing like a bit of running for your life to keep the heart in good shape, eh?" He finished with a cackle, slapping Philip's shoulder.

This merely earned him a flat look from the Englishman.

After checking the coast was clear they left their hiding spot somewhat stealthily. Well, at least they attempted to.

Clarence, as he moved past Philip, caught his foot in a bucket and pitched forwards, grabbing onto Philip as he did.

Philip, in panic, tried to halt their descent by grabbing onto the old, rotting shelving.

Now the storage unit, to its credit, had held up pretty well in its thirty or so years of service. Faithfully, like an old, loyal companion, it had stood the test of time in its dark, dusty, lonely cupboard, surviving brooms being thrown at it, angry janitors shouting at it for 'hiding' supplies, a bad case of woodworm eating away its poor shelves, and even bearing silent witness to the odd couple having a quick makeout session (or worse...) within the dark confines of its resting place.

But alas, time had not been kind to that old piece of furniture. As Philip grabbed onto its dilapidated and corroded corner supports in the hope that it would prevent himself and Clarence from falling, the metal support gave way under the slightest tug, and the old shelving tipped forwards with a groan, the other three metal rods that had held up for so long snapping and bending with a awful, dying groans. The wooden shelves tipped and fell, or even just simply falling into rotting lumps of dust, dumping the various supplies and items it had so faithfully held up for all those years onto the ones that had finally caused its demise.

Philip and Clarence yelped in unison as more than a quarter of a century's worth of dust, mouldy boxes, worn out broom handles, mops, bottles of out-of-date bleach, cleaning supplies, and even a couple of previously-hidden, barely readable porn magazines fell on top of them with a deafening series of crashes, clatters and bangs.

And with that, the old shelf was no more.

Naturally, with such a racket, they were bound to attract attention. Hurriedly, the two detached themselves from each other (Philip having been pulled on top of Clarence) and from the twisted old shelving frame, and without even dusting themselves off, made themselves scarce from the area before any unwanted attention arrived.

After that, and with no further run-ins with the patrolling Infected, they wandered through the dark halls, stepping over fallen wall panelling and stopping to avoid contact with the thick cables and wiring that hung hazardously from the ceiling.

Finally, they came to a stop at a rusted, metal door.

"Kennels," Philip read out loud from the faded sign above the door.

He swallowed uneasily, memories of the mine flooding back.

"That means dogs."

"Not too late to turn back now, you know. I still say we find our own way out of here and forget about that broad and her bloody keycard," Clarence said. "Besides," He added, a sly grin coming across his face again and in a falsely-innocent tone," I thought you _liked_ dogs?"

"I _used_ to like dogs." the Englishman replied, suppressing a shudder, reaching for the door handle, and, with great caution, slowly pulled open the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Alas, poor shelf, I hardly knew thee~<strong>

**This was a bit of a filler/ comic relief chapter (mostly) to ease the tension a bit. Besides, who doesn't like seeing two people trapped awkwardly in a small broom-cupboard? ;D**

**We're coming up to the Kennels area now, and we're also catching up on how far the rough draft has gotten (I've hit a bit of a block in how to proceed further, still 'umm'-ing and 'aaah'-ing about certain aspects of the story and how it'll end. Plus, I need to rewrite the rough draft because after re-watching a couple of Let's Plays videos I've realised that I've described the layout completely wrong D: )**

**Thank you for all the kind reviews and for participating in the polls, you guys are awesome! I'll be leaving the poll up for say, another week or so, before checking the results and closing it, and hopefully finishing up this fanfic. ;D**


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing to greet them was a blast of cold air as soon as the door was opened. The second thing that hit them was the musty stench of wet dog.

This area was far colder than the previous one, and far less modern. Instead of contemporary metal panelling on the walls, here was bare concrete that ran the length of the narrow hallway that stretched before them, ending in a single door. It was surprisingly bright, single lamp at the far end of the corridor (although Philip was surprised the place still had lighting at all).

The Englishman took a deep breath to soothe his admittedly frayed nerves and lead the way down to the door, Clarence, uncharacteristically quiet, following closely behind.

He gently brushed the door open, it creaking as it swung inwards with a quiet whine. There was no other lights ahead, but he made out the shape of some kind of fence that caught the faint light. The smell of dog was terrible now, overpowering even, and the stench of wet animal, combined with the foul scent of faeces and rot, dragged more bad memories back to the surface.

Was his mind playing tricks on him, or could he hear the snuffles and growls of one of those hellish abominations right now?

"Don't worry, you can always find a hammer or a pipe to bash their brains in, like last time," Clarence piped up, breaking the silence as he rubbed his cold arms, "Nothing like a bit of animal abuse to warm up with."

Philip ignored his clone, instead opting to move towards the wire fence. Most of it was still intact, except for a large tear where it looked like the links had been forcibly pushed outwards. Inside he could just about make out some basic kennels, but no sign of any living (or dead) canines, just filthy straw littering the ground. He shuddered and moved away from the stinking pen, going towards a doorway lit by another lamp to his right and pulling out the glowstick from his coat sleeve.

Turning another corner he found himself in a someone brightly-lit hallway, various barrels and large crates stacks along its walls, and directly in front of him, a small doorway, with some more stacked crates inside.

He glanced downwards, and wished he hadn't.

Large, smudged paw-prints littered the floor, tracking back up another corridor that lead off from where he was, and meandering their way down the hall.

They looked fresh.

"Are there any of your.. _friends_ down here?" he asked the other man in a low voice, not wanting to be caught out again with nowhere to hide.

Clarence hummed and cocked his head to the side.

"No," he replied eventually. "Can I wear that coat of yours for a bit? I'm freezing my ass off."

Philip considered the request for a moment.

It's not like he was much warmer given how there was a large tear in the side of the tattered, red coat, but a few moments later he sighed in defeat, peeling off the garment and handing it to the other man, who gleefully took it and put it on, zipping it right up and stuffing his hands into the pockets.

"Heh, maybe you monkeys aren't so selfish as I thought."

Philip rolled his eyes.

"We have our moments." he felt somewhat naked without the coat, having grown accustomed to its reassuring weight on his back and the warmth it provided. Still, he was a bit better off than Clarence; he was actually dressed appropriately for the Arctic conditions: a heavy polo sweater, gloves, boots, wind proof trousers... The clone only had what little clothing he had salvaged from an old locker and off the body of a dead man, which were hardly suited to the almost sub-zero temperatures of Greenland in the full throes of winter.

… Wait, why _did_ he care so much anyway?

Clarence had made his life an utter misery ever since he'd been infected, not to mention tried to get him killed on more than one occasion.

_But he saved my life once, even if it was in his own interests, _he thought. Also, even if the Englishman refused to admit it, he felt a sort of connection between himself and the once-virus, almost like a mental link. The Tuurngait wasn't completely gone from his mind, he was sure of it. Part of it, of _Clarence_, still lingered somewhere in the recesses of his mind.

That, or he _was_ going crazy like Red did before him, imagining things that aren't there, clinging to what little company he had in a desperate bid for human contact, _any_ human contact... Obnoxious as it was at times.

Perhaps that was why he had become so fixated on rescuing Amabel. _Someone_ had to get out of here relatively sane, he thought darkly, glancing up at Clarence, who had pulled the hood up of the coat and was staring at him oddly.

"Thanks, monkey." he mumbled, shuffling uncomfortably, looking unsure of what to do with himself. Philip merely nodded and carried down the hallway, past the large crates and following the paw print trail.

The light of the glowstick then picked up by a slimy, gooey puddle that splattered across the floor and up the lower part of the walls. The stench of dog was now accompanied by the distinct odour of something dead, like carrion.

Closer inspection revealed two large holes, dug through the very concrete itself, on either side of the corridor. the light revealed a glistening slime, not unlike snot, splattered up and around the walls around the holes, along with a dark brown smear on the dirty concrete floor.

Cautiously he knelt down by one of them and shone the torch down the stinking tunnel, and leapt back with a yelp of surprise when he heard something scuttle away from the light. These tunnels, along with the scuttling, reminded him of the spiders that lurked in the tunnel Red had forced him to run the gauntlet through, albeit this thing was _much_ bigger than any spider.

Even Clarence had gone deadly quiet again. The silence stretched on as Philip picked himself back up off the filthy ground, when suddenly a deep growl resonated throughout the room, coming from everywhere at once.

They _both_leapt in surprise then, unconsciously moving a little closer together.

"... Let's block those things up up. Y'know. Just in case. Not that I'm _scared_ or anythi- Shut up. You nearly shat yourself too." Clarence muttered, a tinge of fear creeping into his tone.

Philip silent agreed, recalling how he had to block up the cave entrances to stop the spiders from pursuing him through the tunnels. That felt like such a long time ago now, it seemed. With a shudder he stepped further away from the foul-smelling tunnel entrance and went to the opposite direction, back down the hallway.

"Help me move one of those crates then. Whatever's lurking down there, I want to keep it in there. We can't risk getting savaged while our backs are turned-" He said as he reached the doorway where the large, heavy boxes were stacked, turning to look at his companion.

Clarence was gone.

A small bubble of panic began to fester in his chest as he glanced around, beginning to feel more and more worried.

What if that thing in the wall had silently snatched him away, dragging him into that disgusting tunnel just like he'd feared?

_No..._ Philip forced himself to calm down.

"Clarence?" he called out. Surely the loudmouthed idiot wouldn't go down without a fight, not to mention he still felt that tiny, barely-there presence in the back of his mind somewhere... that meant he was still alive, right?

"Clarence!" he called out again, louder this time, and with rising panic affecting his voice. He was slightly surprised at his own reaction to the other man's absence, considering he had told him barely an hour before that he definitely wouldn't go searching for the ex-virus if he disappeared or got lost.

Why _did_ he care so much anyway? Was he that desperate for company that he was nearly having a panic attack over a person who had only been gone barely two minutes?

"_Separation anxiety already? Jeez monkey, I've only been gone a couple of minu- _**CHRIST**!"

Philip jumped at the loud shout that sounded from behind him, somewhere past the dog pens. That was definitely the clone's voice, but sounding from inside his head like before he was freed... the last part, however, was very much yelped out loud. Suddenly, Clarence himself barrelled down the corridor, past the wire fence and nearly colliding with Philip, looking visibly shaken.

"Bleeding corpses!" he wailed. "You lot must be programmed to just search out danger and _throw_ yourselves headfirst at it. I'm starting to become seriously desensitised here!" he finished with a small pout.

"Wha-?"

"A dead monkey nearly fell on me," the clone whined, "And it's dark down there, _really_ dark. It's not safe."

"Let's find a way to light it then."

"There's dead dogs in the other pen down there, too." Clarence added, pointing down the dark corridor that lead off from their current position. Philip bit his lower lip absently, thinking.

"Come on, just don't wander off again like that. We don't know here that thing could be lurking."

"Aw, monkey! I didn't know you cared so much for little ol' me." The Englishman merely huffed and turned back to the crates, dragging one of them out of the doorway, past his clone, and then proceeded to haul the heavy thing down the hallway towards the oversized rat-holes. With a suppressed grunt he shoved it against the wall, essentially blocking up one of the tunnels.

"You could give me a hand, you know," Philip panted, glaring at the other man who had opted to stand and watch him struggle to shift the damned crate down the hallway, rather than to help.

"But you're so weedy. It's hilarious," Clarence replied with a sharp grin. Upon seeing the other man's expression turn dangerous, however, he added "Pffft. Fine, I'll give you a hand."

Once the second crate was placed securely in front of the other hole, Philip turned to Clarence.

"Clarence?"

"Yeah, monkey?"

"I don't know how you're still doing it, but stay out of my mind. I mean it."

Clarence scoffed.

"Whatever, monkey."

* * *

><p><strong>Whoo, I finally got this done~<br>**

**Sorry about the slight delay, I've been a bit busy with school (It's coming up to my end of year final exams, and I need to revise for them, so less time is spent writing the fanfic drafts). I'm still at odds with how to end this fic, although I think I now have an idea.  
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**Anyway, if you have any thoughts, feel free to write them up in a review, and thanks for reading!  
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**Until next time~  
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	9. Chapter 9

**Over a thousand hits, you guys. ;o; You're amazing, every single one of you. I never thought I'd get this many views, thank you  
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* * *

><p>"I bet that guy we're looking for is dead. Ripped to shreds and scattered all over the place like confetti at a fucked-up wedding," Clarence said after a short while as the arrived at a doorway a little further down the corridor.<p>

Philip gingerly pulled the rotting door open. To their surprise it was well-lit, unlike the rest of the facility, the walls lined with at least half a dozen large fuseboxes, and in the corner, a simple desk with a piece of paper on it, and one of those glowing canisters, but no sign of the keycard.

Clarence trotted past him and retrieved the note before Philip could reach it.

"Story time!" he chirped. "There once was a monkey called Eloff Carpenter who was bestest buddies with another monkey called Wilbur Frisk -who comes up with these names anyway- but Frisk went insane and started living with his doggies, but then ate them. His bestest buddy Eloff didn't mind though, that is until Frisk tried to eat him in his sleep. Oh, and Frisk is a big pussy who doesn't like flashlights. The end!"

Philip snatched the note from the grinning clone with a look of annoyance and quickly scanned it for himself, jotting down a few notes in his book.

Eloff. It sounded familiar somehow.

Where was this man now? Dead? Escaped? Infected? He seemed to be one of those high-ranking Elevated Caste members, so perhaps he would have the correct card.

"We have to find this man, if he was important it's more than likely he would have the card to the room Amabel's in." he said.

Clarence merely ignored him and wandered over to a control panel in the wall.

"What happens if I do _this_?" Philip heard him muse as he pressed a button on the panel.

A loud 'clunk' resonated throughout the area, and the light went out in the corridor outside. Clarence blinked.

"D-didn't that note say that one of those monkey-turned-mutants only came out in the dark?" he said after a short pause, "N-not that I'm _afraid _or anything..."

Philip swallowed, feeling a small tingle of fear creep up his spine and coiling uncomfortably in his gut like a knot. He pulled out his torch and moved slowly out into the hallway to shine the light down there. The crates were still in place, but the entire section was pitch-black. From a fair distance away, he could hear a series of faint rhythmic 'clunks' sounding from somewhere past the dog pens.

"Monkey, be _careful_."

As he stepped closer to the darkened space, a sudden scratching erupted from inside the walls, followed by deep, monstrous growls that echoed all around them.

They both jumped in terror, Philip skittering backwards and away from the source of the sound, his heart in his throat. The sounds, however, were muffled, as if-

"It's trapped behind the crates. It can't get out," _Hopefully. _"Hit the switch again." Philip said, turning to look at his companion.

A moment later, the lights came back on in the hallway, but the 'clunk' sounds from afar had also stopped. Clarence reappeared at the doorway.

"Right. From the sounds of it, the fusebox only turns the lights on in one part of the area at any given time. If this set of lights are on, then I'm betting that the other corridor's lights are off, but if _this_ set of lights are off, then the place we need to get to will be lit. Switch these lights off again and wait here."

He could tell from Clarence's expression that he did not approve of Philip's insane solo mission. But then again, Philip didn't particularly like the idea of traipsing about in the dark with some insane mutated dog-man crawling around in the walls himself, but it had to be done.

Something told him that the dark corridor needed to be investigated.

His companion seemed about to protest, but after a moment he merely said:

"Don't be gone too long."

Surprised, Philip could only nod and turned to leave. Why did Clarence care so much anyway? The thought constantly returned to his mind. It's not like the once-virus himself was the one putting himself in danger; not to mention just a few hours ago he would probably have jumped at the chance to see his host die.

He hurried past the crates, the ominous growls growing louder accompanied by scratching and snuffles which resonated from behind the blocked-up tunnels as he practically sprinted around the corner and towards the dog pens.

If this monster was anything like the spiders, then the light of a glowstick wouldn't be enough to scare it off, so he switched the torch on once again to light the way. At the far end he spotted the prone form of a human body sprawled in the archway. Yet another corpse.

He was so focused on getting to the other corridor that he failed to notice the fallen part of the wire-link fence on the ground.

As he hurried towards the the archway, a sudden, deafening metallic clatter rang in his ears and he leapt at the loud noise, almost screaming out loud and very nearly having a heart-attack.

For a moment, he thought he was going to be rushed by an Infected, or worse, a dog. When he noticed the fence as source of the din, he let out a small sigh and forced himself to calm down.

Before him lay the corridor he needed to travel through. It was pitch-black, but he could hear the tell-tale 'clunk' of the lights coming on.

_Clunk._ A growl sounded from somewhere in the walls.

_Clunk._ Both sounds grew closer now. His heart began to hammer in his chest.

_Clunk_. He spied the light just around the corner come on. The horrendous growls were all around him now, just out of range of the light, but still dangerously close. Carpenter's observations had been right; the _thing_ his companion Frisk has mutated had a fear of the light. Torchlight alone wouldn't be enough though, he had to be completely enveloped in light if he didn't want to be attacked from behind.

_Clunk_. The light came on barely two or three feet away. With a clenched jaw and blood rushing in his ears, he leapt into it. He counted the seconds between each intermittent light.

One... two... three... _clunk_. He hurried forwards into the next pool of light, the one behind him extinguishing.

This process continued for a few minutes, (although each minute felt like an eternity), and finally Philip saw the end of the corridor. Pulse racing, he ran forward into the next light that came on and felt a sudden rush of wind behind him... as if something had lunged at his back and missed.

He tried to convince himself that it was just his imagination. He wasn't very convincing.

_Clunk. _He rushed forwards, spotting a door at the end of the hallway. One more light. His heart was in his mouth now, the sound of its panicked beats threatening to deafen him, his instincts screaming at him to bolt from his (relatively) safe position.

The final light came on before him, and he practically threw himself at it, nearly losing his balance. Catching himself just in time he ran, and all at once the monster's growls were all around him, bouncing off the walls and creating a horrific reverberation in his ears, very nearly causing him to lose his nerve.

With a squeak he lunged for the door, wrenching it open blindly and rushed inside, slamming it behind him and desperate to put some form of barrier between himself and that _thing_. Panting he leant against it for a small moment, trying to collect his breath and calm his increasingly erratic heart rate down. He turned... and his attempts to calm his nerves went down the proverbial drain at the sight that greeted him.

A man sat slumped against the opposite wall, in a small puddle of his own blood, which was also splattered up the wall. Approaching carefully to get a better look, Philip spied a keycard abandoned on the floor beside the body. He knew it was probably pointless, but as he retrieved the card he checked the man's pulse for any signs of life. His neck was littered with bite marks and slashes, his lab coat almost ripped to bloody shreds.

The man's skin was cool to the touch, but not frigid like he expected. He had died less than a few hours ago.

All Philip could do was bite his lip as he drew away, stuff the keycard into his pocket, and turn to leave. The man didn't even have any ID on him... What if _this_ was Eloff Carpenter? This man's casual note had probably saved his life.

If anyone else was to ever come through this facility and find these bodies, nobody would ever know who they were, if they had family, spouses, or children waiting for them back home.

_Or thought they were already dead,_ he thought. It was a bitter irony that he was much in the same situation as these people. _If I die down here, nobody would know who I was if they found my body too._ He too had forsaken bringing anything he could be identified with, deeming it unnecessary for the trip.

Yet another thing to add to the list of Things Philip Regrets Doing. He didn't look back as he walked out of the room, steeling himself for another round of 'skip-through-the-lights-and-avoid-the-cannibalistic-monster'. The familiar 'clunks' grew closer, but not the growls. Perhaps it had moved on.

Once again, as he saw the light come around the corner, he prepared himself to run.

Clarence was pacing around in the switch-room when Philip finally returned, visibly shaking from his encounter in the dark. The clone looked up as his companion re-entered the small room, relief written all over his face for a short moment, before he quickly covered it up with a sneer and a deadpan remark.

"I thought for sure you were gonna be dog food, monkey. Guess I got my hopes up too soon!"

The comment, Philip noticed, held none of the usual malice. Maybe the once-virus was losing his touch.

"I've got the card," the Englishman said, choosing to ignore the other's snark and pulling said card out from his pocket to show him, who frowned at it.

"Why are they always holding a keycard, or a note? Why can't it ever be... I dunno, a cheese sandwich?"

Philip's stomach agreed. For a place that once housed over fifty people, finding anything to actually eat was nigh-impossible. Not even an out-of-date cereal bar.

"Let's get out of here, before that thing comes back."

"Couldn't agree with you more there, monkey."

Neither would later that they practically sprinted out of the kennel area.

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><p><strong>This was so fun to write. Did you guys know that having your Internet getting cut off because the powerlines were knocked down by high winds does wonders for one's writing?<strong>

**We're nearly at Amabel now. The poll is still open, and while I was writing this it seems it's gone from being deadlocked to being in the Disney-level happy ending's favour.  
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**Coincidentally, I made a Philip and a Clarence on the Sims 2, and made them a Shelter facility to live in, complete with a Tuurngait Infected dog. Clarence has been abducted not once, but _THREE _times by aliens, and hated every moment of it. (Oh, the irony!) Philip, on the other hand, seems to have a life ambition of either meeting aliens for himself, or seeing _Clarence_ be abducted by aliens. Hilarity ensued.  
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**I love how similar Sim!Philip is to Penumbra!Philip. ;D**

**Thank you for the reviews, you guys are awesome 3f you have anything to say about this chapter, don't hesitate to write another one.**

***slight edit to correct some spelling errors, so don't be surprised if you end up getting messages that the fic has updated/changed, I'm just going back through the previous chapters and correcting some mistakes I missed.*  
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**So, until next time~**


	10. Chapter 10

"You know what? Once we're out of here, we should go on a holiday, just you and me. We'll have margaritas!"

"That's provided we even get out at all." Philip replied dully as they made their way back to the lab. Clarence simply gave him a flat look.

"Why're you so glum? Cheer up monkey, we're finally about to meet that _girlfriend _of yours!" His clone said, practically grinding out the last part of the sentence. Philip ignored the remark and pressed onwards, quickening his pace and keeping an ear trained for any ominous sounds. There was a small pause as they continued to trudge down the dark corridor back to the lab.

"You _do_ fancy her though. Don't even _bother_ denying it."

The Englishman had had enough by the the other man's wheedling by that point, and whirled around, thoroughly irritated.

"_What_ exactly is your damned problem with her? She says she's found a cure, not to mention _she most likely knows a way out of here!_" He snapped.

"I don't trust her, that's what. There's something not quite right about her, I just can't put my finger on it. She says she's got this cure for you, which is nice and all, but how the hell did she know you were even infected in the first place? That's what _I_ wanna know!"

Philip's anger faltered.

"I must have... told her at some point."

"Wrong. You may not remember it, probably because your brain is so _pathetically_ tiny and already so cluttered with useless junk, but that video thing was one way, and _she_ was doing all the yapping. _You_ never said anything to her about being infected, 'cause you knew she'd run a mile if you did. Hell, you never said anything at all to her!"

Philip considered this, unconsciously biting his lip. He didn't want to admit it, but Clarence had a point. How _did_ Amabel know he was infected in the first place? Did she just assume that was the case from what she saw of his physical condition, or was it really that obvious at the time?

He chewed the thought over for a moment, before finally replying.

"I still just can't leave her to rot down there. I promised I'd get her out, Clarence."

The clone fixed him with a hard stare for a few moments, before sighing in defeat and running a hand through his short hair.

"_Fine_, monkey. But at the first sign she's a psycho, we are outta there, promise or no promise, got it?"

Philip just rolled his eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day and turned around again, taking the other man's concession as a go-ahead and heading towards the corner where his objective, where Amabel was waiting.

The card worked; it slid into the card reader with a little 'beep' and the light flashed green. With a hint of trepidation, he reached forwards to open the door.

It was warm inside, much warmer than the corridor outside in any case, well-lit with two long, large tables in the centre of the room completely covered by stack upon stack of dossiers, files, and piles of loose paperwork. The walls were lined with desks dominated by microscopes, cabinets, and even a vending machine.

But no sign of Amabel.

"You sure this is the right place, monkey?"

"Obviously. Where _else_ is she going to be?"

Clarence just scoffed at him and wandered to the left-hand side of the room, peering into a cabinet and grimacing at the jars stacked inside, before coming across a door.

"Hey look, they even have a bathroom here!" Philip ignored him and went to the opposite side of the room, pausing to rifle through some of the drawers (he knew going through her private things probably wasn't appropriate, but it was a force of habit at this point), finding some batteries and a small bottle of painkillers and peering at the photographs pinned to the walls before coming across a door labelled _Dr. A. Swanson._

He knocked on the door then tried the handle. It was locked.

"Doctor Swanson?" No answer. Maybe she was in the other room? He went to see what Clarence was doing (it was awfully quiet in there) and crossed the room, entering the bathroom to find the clone peering at himself in the mirror above the sink.

"Do I really look like this?" He practically groaned, making a face at his reflection in the dirty mirror, then turned his head to give Philip a dirty look. "I don't _want_ to look like _you_."

Philip simply stared at him for a few seconds, the other's words sinking in, before retorting.

"At least you _have_ your own body now after all that complaining. Don't whine." Clarence ignored him and brought both hands to his face, still ogling his reflection.

"Maybe I can change this body somehow, make it my own." It was Philip's turn to scoff this time as he turned to leave.

"Well short of getting some plastic surgery, you're stuck like that." The other man scowled and stuck his tongue out childishly at the Englishman's back as he left the room. Philip frowned. he wasn't _that_ bad-looking, was he? Perhaps it was just the ex-virus' petty nastiness back with a vengeance after its short disappearance back in the kennels.

Philip went back into the main room, leaving Clarence to his own devices and do god-knows-what in the bathroom, and made his way towards the third and final door, stopping just short of it. If she wasn't in any of the other rooms, where was she? He hesitated at the thought of opening the door, fearful of what he might find. What if something had happened to Amabel while they were in the kennels?

He pushed the doubt aside and slowly opened the door, hoping there were no nasty surprised holed up in there. A blast of cool air hit him in the face, and he felt the chill more so now without his coat, beginning to shiver a bit. This room was like a freezer compared to the relatively warm main area behind him.

"Doctor Swanson?"

Something was wrong. She should have answered him by now. Doubt was beginning to gnaw and twist at his insides now.

"Amabel?" He called out again. Why hadn't she come out? _Surely_ she must have heard his calls. Peeking around the door he spotted a high ceiling, a large metal shelf to his right-hand side, and as he pushed the door open more, a thick chain suspended from the ceiling. As he opened the door fully his eyes followed the chain downwards where it was hooked to a large, heavy-looking crate, suspended a few inches above the ground.

And behind that, he saw an off-white, prone form on the concrete floor. His heart almost stopped.

It was a small body sprawled on its side, and he saw, with growing horror, the white shape was in fact a dirtied lab coat, and underneath that, he made out the shape of a leg.

No. No. _No._ This can't be happening.

Almost of his body's own accord he slowly stumbled through the doorway on shaking legs towards the small form on the floor, as if in a trance.

_Oh God, please, no. _This can't happen. Not now. Not when they were so close.

It was the body of a young woman, possibly around the same age as himself, or so it seemed. It was hard to tell when her face and copper hair were caked with sticky blood. A trembling hand found its way to his mouth, his legs finally giving out and buckling beneath him; merely a few feet away from her. He barely felt the sharp impact on his knees and shins as they collided with the floor.

He couldn't feel anything. It was so hard to breathe.

This couldn't be it it. Philip knew _he _had a very high chance of dying down here at some point, but _she_ was supposed to _live_. She was his only lifeline for so long, his only reason to carry on instead of crawling into some wretched corner to die. His only hope that he had clung onto.

She didn't deserve this, not after surviving for so long on her own.

He leant forwards and spotted an I.D card still clipped to the breast pocket of her coat.

_Dr. A. Swanson. Access level: 2_

Something died inside of him. The small part of his mind that hadn't completely ground to a halt told him it was probably that tiny shred of hope he had clung to so for so long. Hope that he would reach her in-time, hope that they would get out of this mess alive to stop the virus spreading further beyond the confines of the Shelter. he reached forwards with a trembling hand but stopped just short.

_I... I can't..._

Philip curled in on himself instead. First Red, now Amabel. Was everyone that had helped him in this hellhole destined to die before he could reach them in time?

He couldn't even bear to look at her anymore. It hurt.

_It hurts so much._

It wasn't _fair._

He vaguely heard footsteps approach him from behind, but he ignored them. Were he in any other state of mind he would have berated himself for leaving himself out in the open, so vulnerable, like this. But now, there seemed no point. He no longer cared.

He couldn't bring himself to anymore. If it was a Tuurngait that approached him now, then let it come. Perhaps it was time to give up.

Suddenly he was broken from his grief by a weight on his shoulders. He jolted in surprise and, looking up slightly, he saw a pair of red sleeves draped over his arms. Raising his head some more he felt the familiar tickle of the fur-lined hood of his coat on his neck. He then realised it was Clarence that had entered the room, not an Infected, and looked up at the other man. The clone looked very uncomfortable, making a small grimace, before he leant down next to Philip silently, unsure of how to react.

"She's...?" He started, before trailing off, leaving the question hanging in the air.

"Gone." Came the choked reply. Clarence went quiet again.

Neither of them spoke for what felt like the longest time before the ex-virus, fidgeting and looking very much out of his comfort-zone, tugged on the cuff of one of his sleeves and leant forwards, suddenly yanking Philip's chin up and using the sleeve to vigorously (and not too gently) rub away the tears that Philip hadn't even felt trailing down his face.

"Stupid monkey, sitting there covered in your own snot. Typical." Clarence grumbled gruffly, promply letting go of the other's chin once he deemed it tear and snot-free.

As Philip stared back at Clarence, speechless, he realised something.

He wasn't alone. Clarence, no matter how grudgingly, was _still with him_, and still alive. As much as they both hated to admit it, _he_ was as much part of _him_ as his clone was a part of the Englishman.

As long as Clarence was still alive, he was not alone. There was no reason to give up now.

He had to keep fighting on.

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><p><strong>Augh, I'm sorry about the longer than usual break, guys. My art exam is over now, but I still have all my my major subjects coming up, so I probably won't update until after then.<strong>

**;_; I know you guys all voted for a fairytale ending, but this is the path I've chosen for the fic now. It's fairly tragic now, but it gets better in the future. Somewhat. I hope that little bit of fluff at the end softened the tragedy a little. :C  
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**Once again, thank you for the reviews, and thanks for reading.  
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**Until next time~  
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	11. Chapter 11

** Aaaaand I'm back from exams, recovering from said exams, and finally mustering up the willpower to write this long-awaited chapter up. I made it twice the usual length to compensate for the long hiatus.  
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**Enjoy the little bundle of happiness and optimism that is Amabel Swanson, ladies and gentlemen.**

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><p><em>Somewhere within the Shelter facility, an alarm screeched out a repetitive warning call.<em>

"_**Shelter Research Station is encountering technical difficulties. Please have your personal cyanide capsule at the ready," **the familiar, pre-recorded voice of a woman chirruped._

_'Technical difficulties'. She supposed that was one way of saying 'The Shelter has been overrun by homicidal alien mutants that they had unwittingly unleashed'. In all honesty, she didn't know how the the facility still had adequate power to keep the P.A system running by now; it had been nearly a year (ten months, sixteen days, three hours and forty-six minutes to be precise, as Dr. Eminiss would often remind her) since they, that is to say the survivors, had banded together in one last-ditch effort to seal themselves away from the Infected and retreated to the Canteen, the single remaining member of the Elevated Caste leading the tiny group._

_She didn't even _have_ a cyanide capsule. It had been lost in the panic._

_But they couldn't stay there forever. Amabel forced herself to be optimistic. The mines were abandoned, they said, and so there was much less chance of running across any of the Infected, right? And according to the old surveys, they were a number of possible exits; it'd be simple, gather up supplies and adequately warm clothes, access the older parts of the facility through to the mine, and it would be a home-run from there. Nobody was quite sure _where_ the exit actually came out, but as long as they could escape to the surface and seal the doors behind them, they'd be safe._

_That was the plan. And it failed miserably._

_Instead, they walked straight into an ambush. She didn't know how many Infected there were, but the next thing she knew panic spread among the ranks and the survivors bolted. The group was split up as some, she didn't know how many, were taken, dragged away screaming into the dark by sickly grey, shambling creatures that were once humans themselves. All she could do was run, and keep running._

_Run until she couldn't hear the growls and garbled, twisted voices of the Infected any more._

_Run until she no longer heard the screams for help echoing in the corridor in some kind of horriffic cacophony. _

_Eventually she stopped and nothing but the faint hum of the fluorescent strip-lighting was all that met her ears. However, the screams still rang in her head. She couldn't run away from that._

_She pushed down the fear that crept up her throat and kept walking, dodging any patrolling Infected, ducking into shadows, barricading and locking doors behind her, until eventually she arrived at the place she felt the most comfortable in: her laboratory. To her knowledge, nobody else had made it this far... or even survived at all, but she was sure she'd be able to send out a message from her computer in case anyone else logged in somewhere else within the base._

_That was her hope, and she clung to it desperately._

_Soon after she arrived, she received contact from her lab-partner. Overjoyed that someone else had survived, she told him her location so he could rejoin her, and waited._

_Days passed._

_He never arrived. Despite her continued attempts to stay positive, her outer façade of forced optimism began to crack._

_Not long after that, she heard _them_._

_Uneven, padding footsteps on the cold tiles just outside the main door, accompanied by low inarticulate growls and garbled unrecognisable words. Frozen in fear she remained quiet, silently begging the creature to move on, to just go away. It eventually did, but the following days she hardly made a noise for fear of alerting them to her presence. She knew she was safe behind the reinforced steel, keycard-activated doors, but she didn't want them lurking outside anyway, just in case. _

_Despite this, her paranoia still nagged away at her._

_What if one of them had a keycard? And knew how to use it?_

_Almost without thinking she stumbled towards her computer and accessed the security codes, engaging the fail-safes on all the door in the sector... and essentially sealing herself in._

_In retrospect, that probably hadn't been the best of ideas, because she herself was now trapped with no hope of getting out._

In bitter irony she realised that she had put herself in the position of the archetypal damsel in distress, something she had tried to _avoid_ becoming all her life, locked away in a tower and guarded by a fearsome dragon, awaiting rescue in the form of a knight in shining armour to whisk her away from it all and to live happily ever after (or in her case, more embarrassingly, locking herself in a room with next to no supplies, surrounded by alien mutants and prospects of survival, let alone rescue, becoming ever more dim).

For a while she tried to keep herself busy. She thought about what could have been. What if she hadn't accepted a job with the Archaic and instead taken up that position at that other place... what was it called... Aperitif? Wait, no, that's a drink. Apo-... Aperture. Aperture Science, that was it! Maybe things would have been better if she'd taken the job with them instead.

Well, _any_ place was better than here, to be frank. Even if it meant moving to America, anything was better than a dingy little facility in the middle of nowhere studying some suspicious rocks and being chased down by horrifically difigured mutants.

Another thing to keep herself occupied was to sing, _very quietly_, mind, a very out-of-key rendition, with a terrible Italian accent, of an operatic _aria_ she'd heard as a child. She couldn't remember where she'd heard it, nor the title, but she loved the song. It reminded her of home.

"_La mia bam-bina cara... perché non passi lontana...sì, lontana da Scienza..." _She half mumbled, half sang.

From her basic understanding of Italian from a school trip, she wished that she too could just walk away from science. Walk away from here and never look back.

With increasing desperation to keep her morale up and not fall into an inescapable pit of despair, not to mention keep herself from thinking too much about her, quite frankly, hopeless situation, she took stock of what was stored within her work area, and began to read, looking for something, anything, that could provide useful in her situation. She knew full-well that once the security locks' fail-safe was engaged, the door systems be completely locked-down until someone with a high enough ranked key-card came along to disable it.

She pored over countless research notes, analyses and tests. Once she had finished, she read them again, in case she had missed something, _anything_, at all useful. Even if it was for posterity's sake, if she could find a way to fight the virus, if anyone did eventually stumble across the Shelter, they'd have some chance of survival, an opportunity to fight back.

More chance than her co-workers and friends, at any rate. With all the gathered notes and research, a idea came into her head. A tiny germ of an idea, probably impossible at any rate, but worth a shot.

And to be honest, it wasn't like she had anything _better_ to do. One could only dissect the rockworm specimen in the storage room out back so many times before it got boring. Not to mention very messy.

She briefly considered giving it a name and having a chat, even if it was just talking just for talking sake, but very quickly quashed _that_ idea.

That route, she knew, lead only to craziness, like _crazy cat lady_ level crazy.

Amabel did not want to be the North-Pole equivalent and be 'that crazy lady that talks to the corpses of dead rockworms'. She hadn't been locked up for _that_ long.

Only one thing really broke the monotony of reading, testing, reading some_ more_, wondering what wasn't working, and fixing the problem with what limited supplies she had.

She had literally just walked out of the store-room, arms laden with jars and equipment for her next batch of tests, when the door slammed shut behind her.

She yelped in surprise at the sudden noise, which was promptly drowned out by another, much louder, crash.

This time she jumped _and_ yelped, the things she was holding falling to ground to either bounce away or smash into pieces, further adding the the cacophony that had abruptly filled the formerly quiet room.

When all had finally fallen silent again, she picked herself up from where she had flung herself under a table to hide, feeling a little embarrassed, and slowly moved towards the store-room door, pushing it open carefully.

The large metal box, which had once been suspended from the ceiling by a rusting, aged chain, had crashed down, the chain and hook it was once attached to snapped, sending the heavy crate tumbling down and landing where she had been not moments beforehand.

She stared at the box for a while, with only one thought:

_I could have died if I'd been a few seconds slower._

In a state of shock she retreated, gathering up what remained of what she'd been carrying and setting the surviving containers on the table.

Great, now she wouldn't have enough chemicals left after testing on the sample tissue to make a adequate dosage for the antidote. That meant trekking all the way up to the chem labs where the Infected were patrolling in order to find more ingredients...

It was when she was doing a small test on a flesh sample taken from an Infected individual, shortly before the outbreak, that she heard it.

A bleeping coming from computer to indicate another user had come online.

Dropping what she was doing and rushing towards her office, desperation, shock and most of all hope welling up inside of her, she quickly rattled the poor mouse on the desk to clear away the sleep-mode screensaver and peered at the network icon in the far bottom right corner of the screen. Someone had restored power to one of the network computers.

**Other Network connection(s) available: Residential Block****.**

Heart in her throat, she right-clicked on the icon and selected 'video-chat' She didn't have a webcam, but the other computer might. A few frustratingly-long seconds later, the shadowed face of a perplexed-looking man in a wet, dirty-looking parka looking down towards the keyboard appeared on the screen. It looked like he was in _her_ old room, of all places.

Amabel couldn't help herself.

"Wow, you look like you've crawled through a sewer to get here! … I suppose I'm flattered." She blurted out.

The man jerked a bit and his head shot up wide-eyed, looking surprised at the sudden voice coming from the screen's speakers.

"Hi," She continued "I'm Amabel, Amabel Swanson and... I suppose I'll be your guide for the day." her attempt at humour seemingly went straight over the man's head, his expression changing to that of confusion.

Maybe he hadn't heard her? The microphone on this computer _was_ awful, and she was pretty sure the camera part of the webcam didn't work either.

"Hello, can you hear me?" She tried to speak as clearly as possible, enunciating the words carefully, "I think the transmission's only one way. I've got a webcam- pull a silly face if you can hear me."

He looked down slightly, frowning a little bit as he paused for thought, before awkwardly sticking his tongue out at the screen.

"Oh, very attractive! Okay, we're on..."

She briefly informed him of the situation and what had happened (he didn't look like he belonged to the Shelter staff – he must have come in form the outside somehow). He listened and nodded in understanding as she explained, but when she mentioned the part about Howard; the man's expression changed into a frown and he seemed to zone a little bit, only seeming to pay partial attention to her words until she paused, thinking.

"Hmmm, what else don't you know... let's see. Watch out for signs of infection-"

Suddenly he twitched, almost imperceptibly, switching his formerly unfocused gaze upwards in a flash from the wall behind the computer to stare directly at the webcam, saying something she couldn't hear.

She didn't want to mention it, but the look in his eyes had changed, and just for a split-second... it was like looking at another person. It was... unsettling.

Then as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone. The look in his eyes had vanished and he blinked, frowning a little bit and switching his gaze back to the screen, as if expecting her face to appear where there was just a small static-filled square.

"Di-did you say something?... Look, the symptoms we know about are paranoia and aural distortion. Oh, and another symptom is déjà-vu." Hadn't she already mentioned that? Oh well, as long as he knew what to look out for. She sent her research papers to her computer for him to read up on and opened up the security panel for the locked doors in Residential.

"I'll get some doors open for you. Maybe now we can shoot the shi-"

Boom. Minor power cut. Within a second the lights flickered back on, before she could start having a mini-heart attack.

Damn, right in the middle of her punchline! Oh well, hopefully she didn't need to just joke about shooting things and the man had actually brought some weapons to defend himself with. They stood a much better chance of getting out if he did.

In the hours that followed her mind drifted. How long had it been since she'd eaten anything?

She sorely wished she'd had that second helping of rations Chef was dishing out before they'd set out on their doomed escape attempt. She had felt too anxious at the time to force down any more servings of corned beef and cold beans. Luckily she had plenty to drink at first courtesy of the vending machine in her lab, although that too was quickly running out (and she'd ran out of things to throw at it in order to make it release a can, and she definitely din't want to get her arm stuck up inside that monster of a machine).

She was pretty sure her stomach was shrinking from lack of food now. Walking around without feeling tired was becoming increasingly rare as her body became more and more lethargic.

It was a few more hours before she heard the familiar bleeping again. She had fallen asleep on the desk when the sound blared in her ears and rudely woke her up. With a snort she shot upwards, nearly falling out of her chair as she scrabbled at the edge of the desk in an attempt to not fall in a heap on the floor. Dragging herself up she finally righted herself and opened the video link.

Once again, her mouth started talking before her brain had engaged.

"Christ, you look worse than the last time I saw you!... Though maybe you're just at a higher resolution."

He winced a little bit and the realisation of what she had just said to her only hope of survival struck her like a tonne of bricks. _Oh god, turn it around, quick-!_

"Oh, damnit," she wanted to slap herself there and then, "Note to self: never insult your last hope of survival!" she added cheerfully, hoping to lighten the tone.

Oh God, she felt terrible. She chewed her tongue anxiously. _Great job, Amabel. Now he's going to hate you and no rubbish joke is going to make it better, _she mentally berated herself. Swallowing her embarrassment, she continued.

"I just wanted to give you a word of warning..." He didn't seem particularly shocked or surprised when she warned him about the artefacts.

"... I'm sure you'll be fine! Probably... I hope. By the way.. if you happen to find yourself in my neck of the woods, I'm kind of trapped," she paused, her voice wavering a bit. "It's no big deal, really. Just throwing it out there." she added hastily at the end. _Like hell he's going to rescue you now after you just insulted him like that, _a little voice in her head berated her. On the screen he paused for a second, before nodding to show her that he understood before turning off the transmission.

_Yep. He definitely hates me now._

Afterwards, she spent some time perfecting her idea, the 'antidote', as she was hesitant to call it, typing up the formula into the computer for future use, along with a notice should anything happen to her before help arrived that would, hopefully, cure the viral infection.

She didn't really expect the final sound of the computer to sound off again.

"You came! I- I guess I didn't really expect you to bother..." _Not after what I said last time. _In a slight state of shock she finally explained to him, as she had explained to her partner a week beforehand, how to reach her.

".. Okay! Good news... good news... um..." She trailed off, before suddenly remembering, "O-oh yeah, I _think_ I've got a cure! Well, it's not really what you'd call a _cure_ cure, but it should be enough to help you. I don't think _I'm infected_, I was careful but..." she giggled a little bit, feeling light-headed, "I guess if you come rescue you me and I'm looking at you like you're a roast chicken I got it wrong," she paused, realising what she had just blurted out yet _again_.

"... Sorry. That probably wasn't funny, was it?... No, I suppose not."

He was staring down at his knees, looking very ill; his face was pale and drawn, but most of all, he seemed tired. So, _so_ tired; like someone who had just seen and experienced far too much in their lives and looked older than their years.

Eventually he glanced up, seeming to sigh, but gave a little, encouraging wave to the webcam, almost smiling a little bit. Her heart welled in her chest then and too many emotions swept though her at once at the simple gesture.

_Thank you._

"Well... Hope to see you soon."

A few hours later, she heard footsteps outside of the metal doors. More than one person, it seemed, but footsteps that definitely weren't the shambling trudge of an Infected, but strong, if somewhat hesitant, steps that belonged to a normal human being. They quickened in pace until the person was running towards her door.

Or perhaps she was imagining things again, that seemed to be happening more and more often. Hearing and seeing things that weren't there. If she had the presence of mind and someone to talk to, she would have made a joke about aural distortion and hallucinations.

"Miss Swanson?"

The voice a man with a southern English accent, sounding to be in his late twenties to thirties and presumably her knight in not so much shining armour as a dirty red parka, sounded through her room, muffled by the metal of the door.

Amabel stood up and moved as quickly yet cautiously as she dared without falling over, towards the set of doors, stopping a foot or so away. She could vaguely hear another voice, a rougher one with an accent she couldn't quite place, very faintly speaking.

"H-hello, is someone there?" She couldn't trust herself to not be hallucinating at this point.

"Miss Swanson, it's me. We spoke on the computer earlier."

The young chemist was overwhelmed by a sense of relief and happiness at finally hearing another human being's voice that wasn't that damned P.A system that she crumbled, slumping against the door.

"You know," she said, "You turning up here is probably the second-best thing that's happened to me since I've been down here... I'm reserving _first place_ for when we get out..."

Once she had finished babbling and ending her little, desperate-sounding monologue with the promise of 'the biggest hug of your life', she heard him kneel, her knight, and put his hand against the door.

Giddily she placed her hand up too, where she imagined his was, and heard him speak once more.

"I _will_ come back." With that, she heard him shuffle as he stood up, and leave, another pair of footsteps accompanying his. Did that mean he'd found another survivor?

Damn, this guy was good.

Hope surged through her very being and she nodded to herself, forcing herself to stand up. She felt like she could dance. She would have, if she hadn't felt so dizzy, at any rate.

For coming this far, he _definitely_ deserved a hug. Yes. A big one. The biggest and _best_ damn hug ever.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a true smile spread across her face, completely unforced, like the others had been when she was trying to cheer herself or others up, not the product of forced optimism or a bad joke.

She knew she had sent him on a trip to one of the most heavily Infected-infested areas of the Shelter, and she'd been hearing horror-stories courtesy of her co-workers on what just had happened to Overseer Frisk, stories like how he'd taken refuge in the kennels and been eaten by mindless dogs that had once guarded the mines... or that it was _him_ that ate the dogs _first._

However, she was pretty confident her saviour was going to pull through. Not only had survived through Residential, he had found another survivor, _and_ he'd made it across the surface.

Nonetheless, she worried a little bit.

If he never returned, she really was screwed.

_No_, she couldn't think like that. She had to keep her spirits up; losing faith and hope now would just be plain silly, right?

Right.

Filled with a renewed sense of purpose and drive, she went to the store-room to pick up some supplies which were kept back there for when he came back. Grabbing what little there was from the little room on the left (painkillers, never knew when you needed those) she quickly left, feeling dizzy., ignoring the dark that was eating away at the corner of her vision.

Far too dizzy. Her head swam as the days without proper nourishment nor sleep finally caught up with her.

Her blood pressure-level crashed after such hasty movement, and she barely even registered herself falling as the white-noise drowned out all other sounds.

Her vision blurred out into black.

_Crack._ Her head caught the corner of the box, and blood began to pool onto the cold floor.


	12. Chapter 12

_He didn't really remember anything before finding himself trapped within the human's horrendously empty-feeling head._

_Not clearly, in any case._

_He had been one of many, as much a part of the one entity as they were a part of him; there wasn't any of this gender pronoun bull like 'he' or 'she', purely because there was simply no need for it. In the Hive there was only us and we, a network of countless minds all directed by the greater whole. If the Hive ever referred to itself as I, it included all of the minds that it was composed of._

_It took the viral infection a while for the idea to creep insidiously into its own ever-evolving mind that something had gone wrong. The goal had been straightforward enough, a subconscious order almost locked into its D.N.A: infection, assimilation, rejoin the Hive. The first part had been a success; that much was sure. The virus ate away cell by cell, surreptitiously burrowing its way deeper into the host's mind until it could start to spread further into the neurons and synapses, entrenching itself until it was almost one with the creature's brain completely and partitioning it off, part by part._

_It wasn't particularly aware of the host's - Mankind, it discovered- thought processes or movement at this stage, aside from the fact that there was powerful surges of adrenaline every now and then and increased blood flow which indicated an awful lot of running, with a strong undercurrent of an emotion it identified after rifling through the man's mind as fear. The virus continued to ingratiate itself, delving further into memories and ideas, discovering more and more utterly alien concepts.  
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_Society. Singular thinking. Morality. Right and wrong. Good and bad. Individuality. Selfishness. Emotions... love, hate, sadness and joy... They were ideas that were quickly digested and then promptly mentally filed as 'dangerous', 'chaotic', and above all 'destructive' tendencies.  
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_This Mankind called himself Philip, and hailed from a place called England. It was a long way away their current location, from what it coul gather. He was thirty years of age counting from the day of his birth. He had stumbled across this place in search of his father, whom he had never known, and in search of answers despite the fact he had been asked to raise no further questions.  
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_The virus concluded that Mankind were, __as a general rule,__ extremely inquisitive, foolhardy, and stubborn to a fault.  
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_It was after that point it seemed things started to go wrong. The virus had quietly grown in the back of the oblivious Mankind's mind, partitioning off and infecting it little by little until it felt strong enough to take over. At this point it could see the images projected into the mind by its host's rather primitive eyes, and was very aware of the fact that the he was growing suspicious of the notes left behind the other members of his species, the 'Staff Members' (that is to say, the Mankind that had stationed themselves above the Hive's resting place) regarding the Tuurngait, although he hadn't yet made the connection. Not that would matter shortly anyway. He would be assimilated like all the others, and his mind would join the Hive._

_It had watched their progress until the point when the host had taken them down to a place constructed beneath the main facility. The sewer, the Mankind's brain helpfully offered. It was quiet and almost peaceful in a way, with only the sound of the occasional pattering drops of water cascading from a pipe above down onto the concrete where they stood._

_The man's mind was suitably weak and unaware at this point, and the virus made its move.  
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_**Life... Philip... **_**Here.**

_The puzzles the Mankind saw and solved in his mind __in the following minutes __were a a mere distraction; his kind did love to solve puzzles, so it seemed. The familiar yet somewhat twisted scenes were a product of his own imagination along with fragmented memories, like in any dream, and probably fueled more so by the various narcotics he had ingested in the past few hours to dull the pain of a headache ad the sting of a possibly sprained wrist.  
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_**Warm in here**, the virus murmured to itself. It could feel the Mankind's half agonising over the guilt of some past action as he watched the industrial casket go up in flames, eating away at a noose above it. The colour red was plastered everywhere in the man's mind.  
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Red... I'm so sorry. Are you happier now?

_Why did the human feel so guilty? Did he feel that he had murdered the other? Could it be called murder if the other being wished for death?  
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_Death was a somewhat foreign concept to the virus, the idea of wanting to die much more so. The Hive certainly knew the sensation of dying; it had felt parts of it die before, like a small candle being snuffed out; to equate it to the Mankind's level, it would be like feeling a skin cell die: death of a part of oneself, but an insignificant one compared to the greater whole nevertheless. The loss of a single organism didn't truly affect it. It could always replenish the ranks if need be. The death of one's single, entire consciousness was something that happened to other, lesser beings.  
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_What should have happened was the Mankind, stalled by the various puzzles and prodded along gently by the hopes of finding an exit to this nightmare, would have been quietly and relatively painlessly assimilated by the virus in the last few stages of infection, the final partitioning of the mind which put the host in the back seat, and the Hive at the reins._

_**Host... We are here now...**_

_What should _not_ have happened was its' host's part of the mind 'escaping' the change. He was progressing far too quickly. The light at the end of the mental tunnel was rapidly approaching. The virus struggled to maintain control and keep up.**  
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_**No... No... No. **This was wrong. This was not supposed to happen. The Mankind wasn't supposed to be able to fight back and escape; they are all such a weak-minded species!**  
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_And yet, here was precisely what the man was doing. He was outsmarting the puzzles with surprising efficiency, spurred on by the primeval fear of a memory of being chased by something big and running at full tilt towards the light. He reached it just before the virus could catch up, and the carefully constructed dream-world shattered.  
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_The Tuurngait could feel itself changing; its progress was being slowed if not outright halted. The Mankind's mind unconsciously fought back against what it had finally recognised as a foreign infection, pushing back and sending the virus bowling far back from where it had entrenched itself back into a dark, remote and unreachable corner where it coiled in on itself, cowed from the blow. The Hivemind had no influence here; the link between the virus and its brothers faded to almost nothing. _

_After that the man passed out, dragging the suddenly weakened virus into darkness along with him.  
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It was a while before they came to, face-down on the foul-smelling damp concrete. Through blurred eyesight it saw the man haul himself up shakily by grabbing hold of the rusted old valve on the wall near by where he stood, his mind a mess of disoriented confusion. The virus was confused too; it felt like something was missing. Something important. Half the memories it had possessed before the dream-world incident were gone.

It prodded the man's mind for answers but got nothing but sluggish confusion in return.

'_Hello? ... Hello, can you hear me?_' It received no answer from the echoing dark where it had been banished to. '_What am I doing here?_'**  
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Wasn't the host supposed to be back with the Hivemind by now? What had actually happened? The memories were blurred.

'_Who am I?_' It mused. That was a question it had never really bothered asking itself before. But then again, it didn't really have a voice to ask questions with before either, or even a gender to determine the sound of the voice...Although this sounded very much like a male's voice, albeit older than the host's.

Or perhaps it was the human that had attributed it this voice, based on either imagination or memory. Either way, the human unconsciously marked the virus down as male because of it. It ignored this label for the moment to focus on more important thoughts.

Emotions began to flood through the virus' senses now. Panic and confusion, which was quickly followed by frustration when there was still no clues as to what was happening. It tried to reach out to the others for help but felt nothing but emptiness beyond.

'_Why can't I hear their voices?!_' It snarled at the man. It wanted answers and all the virus received in reply was the stupid human swaying uneasily on his feet, only just beginning to formulate more coherent thoughts and questions of his own.

'_Well, thanks for the help_', it snarked. '_I'm having an existential nightmare and you can't even say a word!_'

With that, it angrily curled back in on itself to recuperate its lost memories by rifling through the human's own, keeping one proverbial eye on the man's progress. All of these new emotions and feeling were overwhelming. This had to be the mankind's fault somehow. He had ruined everything and now the virus was going to have to try and fix it.**  
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Now he was swimming around in that foul water trying to arrange the boxes so he could make it to the other side of the reservoir. Like a monkey solving puzzles.**  
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That's all these creatures were, it thought bitterly. Monkeys, barely evolved out of the swamp they spawned in, and capable of simple tricks and swimming around in their own watered down piss._  
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Now he had climbed up through a drain cover and was communicating with another human - a female - via a computer. Bo-ring_..._

"...- I've got a webcam, pull a silly face if you can hear me. Oh, very attractive! Okay, we're on. There's some things you need to know."_  
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_'Sure, whatever you say, lady,'_ the virus drawled to itself.

She kept waffling on for about five minutes until:

"Hmm, what else don't you know? Let's see... watch out for signs of infection."

"Present and accounted for." It absent-mindedly uttered again.

It felt a small moment of horror surge through the human, Philip, as it, or rather _they_, said that. The woman faltered for a second in her explanation.

"Di- did you say something? Look, the symptoms we know about are paranoia and aural distortion. Oh, and another symptom is deja-vu."

Ooooh. So this meant it still has some level of control over the human's speech? Time for a second attempt.

_'Enough already, my sides are splitting.' _No reaction from her this time. The monkey had put his guard up again... Shame. Moment of excitement over, it went back to picking its' way through his memories to entertain itself until the man had left the room with the annoying female voice. It couldn't help, however, but overhear the monkey's thoughts echo through its own.

_''Infected. I'd skipped a beat when I heard that word associated with me.''_

_I bet you did sunshine, _it thought to itself as he continued._  
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_''Still, it seemed like just one more reason to find my father. Hearing a friendly voice hadn't hurt either - but at that point, I was pretty certain she'd turn out to be crazy..._ ''

Enough of this. I am not some non-sentient cold virus that can be cured with a glass of orange juice and some chicken soup!

"If we must continue to share this brain space,_ I_ think I should have a name. Strange - so rare an opportunity to select one's own nomenclature and yet, I feel at a loss.'' Philip shuddered and gripped his head, swaying as the words rung out through his mind.

So what if he was in pain? He deserved it, in the virus' view, for trapping it in his mind in the first place instead of co-operating. If he had just succumbed like a normal person neither of them would be in this situation in the first place!_  
><em>

''Any ideas, _monkey_?'' It added, the words spat out as it they were unclean. The virus continued to dig viciously in the Englishman's memory banks. Somewhere in the background the monkey was gritting his teeth and wishing for the voice in his head to shut the hell up. It was duly ignored as it pressed on gleefully.

''So much storage in this mind of yours... Did you realise that you've got en entire section in here devoted to film titles? Three thousand, one hundred and a _half_ movies you've seen-'' It continued to watch the first half of the film as it continued - ''You've only got one half of It's A Wonderful Life in here! How does it end? Now I'll never know...''

Philip fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the cold floor. _Make it stop, make it stop!_

''Y'know... Clarence. That's not a bad handle - I _am_ something of a guardian angel.''_  
><em>

It had been that moment that had sealed Clarence's fate, he knew now. Although by choosing a name, by opting to be different from the others, he had become something else - neither human, nor Tuurngait - which, while helping the change, was not the main reason.

From the moment he had lost control during the preliminary infection process and been shoved into that secluded corner, he had been alone. The Tuurngait no longer made contact with him, because he was no longer part of the Hive.

He had become something else... something distinctly more human.

He hated that.

He blamed the monkey for putting them into this mess, for making him question his own existence when he should never have had to in the first place.

Before he didn't even know the meaning of the word hatred, but after that point he had been utterly consumed by it.

Instead of infecting the human, the human had infected the virus and made its own kind turn its back on it.

He had hated the monkey - so much so that he had even been willing to throw his new-found sense of self-preservation out of the proverbial window and try his damned best to get his moronic host killed on multiple occasions, only to be thwarted each and every time by sheer dumb luck.

At least that way, _both_ of their pitiful existences would have been erased at once: one lost, lonely human consumed by guilt, driven by an insatiable curiosity and with a possible hero complex to boot; the other a twisted shard of something much, _much_ greater forever lost and shunned by its own kind, living in the knowledge that it could never rejoin the whole it had once belonged to, trapped inside the confines of another creature's mind with no hope of escape.

Clarence stewed inside the monkey's mind for a while, cursing both their existences.

He hated him for not obeying his father's wishes. He hated the bumbling idiot for coming down here to satisfy his own arrogant monkey curiosity. He even hated that _Red_ monkey for helping Philip to survive in the mine long enough to reach the Shelter, and for being lucky enough to have someone willing to end his pitiful life when he asked Philip to do it.

And yet when _he_, Clarence, had begged for death, his monkey refused him the same courtesy. _Selfish prick._

Philip was the reason Clarence was trapped alone in the dark, away from the warmth and reassuring presence of the Hive.

Philip was the reason he was slowly going insane because of the endless silence.

Philip was the reason Clarence wished himself dead, but was forever doomed to live out in exile, and no means to end it all.

_Philip was the reason Clarence existed in the first place._

It wasn't until they had stumbled across the dead scientist in the cloning laboratory that he saw a glimmer of hope, a chance to change their, no... _his_ situation for the better.

The monkey had done what he normally did, which was attempt to open doors, mess around with computers, and mope about that woman.

The last part had annoyed Clarence to no end; because there no way in seven hells was he was going to share _his_ monkey with some female who was probably infected herself, and whose story alone sounded pretty damn suspicious.

Just who the _hell_ is stupid enough to lock themselves in their own laboratory?

It wasn't long before the opportunity to amuse himself out of sheer boredom presented itself once again as the man came across one of the decrepit computers in a cramped office that stank of dust and, as predicted, started messing around with it as he usually did.

**Would you like to deactivate the security locks? (Y/N)**

Monkey-man paused for an irritatingly long time before tapping the "Y" key. The computer hummed, froze for a few frustrating seconds, before emitting a loud beep.

**Error has occurred. Emergency protocol already in effect. Only door(s) 25, 26, 27 could be deactivated.**

**...We apologise for any inconvenience caused. Have a nice day :)**

"Your technology is really shitty. But with your tiny, singular minds I'm not surprised that you can only think so much." Clarence quipped. This was followed by a minute or two more of mental bickering before Monkey finally gave up and flounced out the door like a frustrated teenager who had just lost an argument.

Now, if he just poked around right _here_ just like _this_... Philip's vision went black for a second and he shook his head with a grunt.

_...What doors had been opened again? _He wondered to himself.

"Got a little..._memory problem _there?" His host groaned in irritation at the other's antics and the sudden loss of progress.

"Well, if you let me take the reins for a little while- oh, don't look so horrified-" The expression the monkey made right then was damn near priceless, "I might be able to remember those doors for you...we could even have a little _fun_ afterwards if you like..."

He waited for the penny to drop. It was always good fun to mess around with the guy's mind; it alleviated the constant boredom and it was almost stupidly easy to embarrass a human, it seemed, with the right use of intonation on a certain word. After that, they make up all sorts of scenarios in their head and you let imagination do the rest.

Plus, it was a general rule, Clarence had gleaned, that people from whatever place this monkey was from were horrendously emotionally suppressed and thus had... _vivid_ imaginations about certain situations. He didn't know if it was the case for all monkeys, but it certainly worked on this one.  
>A beat later, Philip could only squeak out a single-word response.<p>

"...What?"

If Clarence had a body then, he would have patted himself on the back just for eliciting that response. Philip shook his head and mentally pushed aside whatever scenario had just played in his mind's eye and the virus heard him muttering to himself something about "His idea of fun being my face getting intimate with a rusty axe." _And now for the coup de grâce..._

Without missing a beat Clarence replied:

"Well if that's your thing..." The monkey actually thought about hitting his head against the nearest wall at that point, and instead of howling with laughter Clarence opted to hide his utter amusement and only snickered.

Well, _that_ was a nice little diversion for them both, as the man resolutely got his thoughts back on track and grumbled about 'bastard interfering Tuurngait', checking the inside of the room he had just opened. The smell of sickly sweet rot hung in the air like oil on water, mingling with the omnipresent smell of dust and paper, with a slight undercurrent of something Philip's brain struggled to identify.

There were desks everywhere with the occasional bottle of painkillers stashed inside, and a notable lack of anything informative. In Clarence's short experience, he had come to realise that humans, one: - loved desks to a fault (they were everywhere, so that had to be the case) and two - were messy creatures that enjoyed, upon death, forcing their still-alive peers to struggle with clues and cryptic messages surrounding their deaths, not to mention leaving them to deal with the task of tidying up and sorting out the corpse they inevitably left behind.

_Rude._

Such was the case here as they stumbled upon the source of the nasty smell, yet another -shock horror- dead monkey scientist!

It transpired, after gingerly leaning over to read the notes written on-screen, that this one had offed himself because he had been trapped in here. He obviously hadn't looked for a way out hard enough, the virus concluded, because here was Clarence and Philip having just waltzed (although it was more like a cramped shuffle) in through the air vent, with plans to waltz straight back out again after this are was thoroughly searched.

Major fail in logic there; three points outta ten, two points for sufficiently dramatic suicide note and one for effort. The guy even had a gun but had no bullets, how did that even get here? Clarence wondered to himself. And just what was it about scientists trapping themselves in their own labs?

"Blah, blah, so the monkey killed himself cause he couldn't see any way of escape, boo-hoo," Clarence piped up, sounding rather unimpressed by it all. "What a mess he left this place in, too." For all his derision, the virus couldn't help but feel jealous; at least this guy had the means to end it all...

Welp, enough moping. Time to play the ''Let's See How Far We Can Push Philip Before He Snaps" game with the monkey again and cheer himself back up!

After suitably distracting the now-irritated man and causing him to storm out of the room (again), Clarence took careful note of the screen that Philip had seen from the corner of his eye, but had disregarded.

"**Regeneration unit is now online. Automatic mode activated." **Good.**  
><strong>

"Sooooooo, monkey, where to next in our _wonderful_ adventure? What's behind door number...twenty-six, I wonder?" He piped up. Grumbling, the monkey blindly followed the suggestion anyway - just like Clarence knew he would, eventually - and went straight to the other room. He felt a questioning prod from the monkey's mind concerning his silence, but waved it off.

''Quiet monkey, I'm thinking.'' He ignored the man's scoffing and carefully watched as his host walked up to yet another computer screen.

"**Transfer process ready, awaiting confirmation."** Well, wasn't that interesting? He remained silent still as Philip picked up a sheaf of papers from a close desk and scanned them, muttering as he read.

"Day 221: After months of work and research into the project, as well as countless fixes and alterations, the Neural Transfer Unit is now fully operational: the test subject survived with more than 70% of previous brain function intact and (most) motor neuron functions fully operational.

It is now possible for a single human consciousness to be transferred from a mortally wounded or incurably diseased body into a healthy clone..."

_Oh._ This was pure gold they were sitting on and the monkey hadn't even realised it. Clarence was almost tempted to rescind his comment about humans and their shitty technology, but decided to reserve judgement until he knew the thing actually worked. In the meantime, Philip trudged over to a lone chair sat down in it heavily. The virus could feel the frustration and resignation, tinged with despair, emanating from the monkey's mind like waves until he felt like he was, metaphorically speaking, waist-deep in pure angst.

"Aw monkey, don't be like that! You'll always have _me_ to keep you company...You won't get rid of me that easily ya know." Again, Clarence pushed away the suspicious prod of the Monkey's question: '_Are you hiding something from_ _me?'_

"Hmm. Maybe." _You should know a Poker player never reveals his hand, monkey-man, especially with the gamble I'm about to make. _

Well, time to set the ball rolling!

"Come on, if you don't get a move on soon I'll die of boredom... Oh wait, I _can't._"

Suitably motivated, Philip stood up, rolling his eyes. Right, find Amabel.

_Ugh, her again, really? You think about her more than that Red guy!_

"Oh yeah, _her_. You really honestly think she'll hug you, let alone come near you once she realised you're 'infected?'"

"She's offered me more hope than you have."Came the quiet reply and Clarence sighed, despite his lack of lungs. Did they really have to have this conversation _again?  
><em>

"I know what you're thinking. Save the princess, get rid of _nasty old me_, find the cure then live happily ever after? Don't kid yourself monkey. She'll take one look at you and run screaming, and in the end all you'll have is _me_. That broad probably already has a 'significant other', maybe we should ask her when she shows up on that tiny screen again..." _And there's no way in hell I'm letting the likes of _her_ having a chance at getting rid of me, even if her cure is bullshit. Either we _both_ live, together, or _neither_ of us do._

_'Jealousy?'_ He heard the monkey wonder. _Fuck off, this is self-preservation. I have no idea what you're talking about. _Clarence grunted and fell into a brief sulky silence before speaking up again after a short pause._  
><em>

"Twenty-seven," He mumbled. His answer was met with a skeptical raising of the eyebrow before Clarence suddenly had a thought.

Time for that gamble and say 'hello' to an estranged relative.

"Wait wait, did I say twenty-seven? I meant thirty-one. _Yessss_. Try thirty-one instead..." He suddenly chirped again. The monkey once again cautiously executed his request and headed down the hallway, after a brief scare involving a paper coffee cup, came across the Supplies room. Clarence waited in silence.

Nearly there...

**_Come on, brother. I know you're there. You might not be able to hear me, but I can hear you._**

Being separated from the Hive's voices had left him without a voice and no means of communing with it once again, but he could still sense the presence of his once-brothers well enough to know when one was close.

_**''Is someone there?"**_

_Come at me, brother! _Right on cue, Philip bolted down the corridor, heading to the ever-welcoming dark.

Everything happened in a few short seconds before the axe pierced their side and Philip staggered as the agony blossomed throughout his entire torso.

_"Come on, give us your best shot, bro- Ack-! O-Okay, maybe not your best shot but- oh, crap. This is overkill damnit-" _Clarence wailed as Philip used the last of his energy to wrench out the weapon and fling it at the Infected behind him. The virus couldn't help but wince as he heard it hit home and his brother's strangled squawk while the monkey limped back towards the corridor. This part hadn't been in the plan - he definitely hadn't included them _bleeding to death_. The man struggled past the barricade and past the double doors, leaving drops of blood on the floor and smeared across the wall as he finally fell clumsily against it._  
><em>

"Monkey. Monkey. _MONKEY_! Get.** Up**. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and _move_ damn it, or we're both gonna die- I-I mean it! Don't make me take drastic action, you whiny, pathetic, under-evolved-!"

Clarence could barely see through the monkey's eyes now. It was all flashing white and black, like static, and sound was muffled.

"Stupid, _stupid_ fucking monkey! Just get up on your barely-evolved hind legs and- ugh. _Fine_. Have it your way then. You just go nap-nap and leave old Clarence to clean up the mess you've left us in, hmm..?"

Well, shit.

Time to improvise, then.

The monkey was getting weaker, both physically and mentally.

Philip's half of their shared mind offered little to no resistance as Clarence lunged forward and seized control of the motor-neuron functions, unsteadily hauling their uncooperative body up and staggering back down the hall.

Christ, no wonder the guy had passed out, the virus winced. One of the few perks of living as a non-physical entity in the back of the brain was that Clarence had never felt one iota of whatever physical feeling Philip had experienced. Until now, that is.

It felt like an eternity before he finally reached room marked twenty-five and shouldered it open. His body was so cold he didn't notice the change in temperature as he shucked off the torn coat before limping unevenly towards the closest cylinder.

_This thing had better work_, he thought as he fell into it and smashed at the buttons on the side of the tank. Once there he lay shuddering on his side, as a pneumatic whine accompanied the sliding up of the perspex cover until the tank was shut.

_**Beep. Beep. Beeeeep.**_

Just in time Clarence grabbed the oxygen mask that hung just on the side of the tank as it started to hum, then fill with ice-cold water._**  
><strong>_

_'Holy fuck, that's cold...' _Was his last thought as everything began to go dark.

He had no idea how long it was before he woke up again, thankfully pain-free this time but, alas, still in a tank full of water. He opened his eyes groggily and quickly shut them again because of the freezing water suddenly hitting his eyeballs.

Eyeballs? Did that mean he was still in control of their body? Tentatively he opened one eye again, wincing, and looking around.

He was still in a tank of water like some glorified goldfish, although now he could faintly hear some beeping from outside, and the water level, he noticed as he looked up, was coming down. It also appeared that he was now upright, rather than laying down. Closer inspection revealed that this was in fact a whole different room to the one they had passed out in.

A screen somewhere to his left flashed brightly in the gloom.

**Transfer complete. Please await end of automatic process. A trained physician will arrive to provide counseling start your rehabilitation program shortly. Welcome to your new body, [insert name of patient here]!**

The water level had dropped to around ankle-deep by the time the perspex cover hissed and jerkily opened upwards. Clarence watched as he experimentally flexed his fingers slowly, then his arms, taking his first intake of breath with his new body.

_What a pretty body. Mine, mine, mine._

Only to then unexpectedly cough up half a lung of water and collapsing forwards to his knees on to the cold floor, dripping water around him and naked, grinning like a maniac.

"_Perfect._"

Now, once he could get his legs to co-operate with him, it was time to go and retrieve his monkey.

* * *

><p><strong>Wow, it's been a while since I updated this; like what, seven months?<strong>

**I felt terrible at having made you all wait, especially after all the really nice comments I've received, a number which I thought I'd never hope to reach (41 reviews? you're all darlings!), so I wrote up a monster chapter (remember when I was complaining at just 2000 words? Hah) from Clarence's point of view to compensate for the wait.**


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